


Souls

by DollopheadedMerlin



Series: Soul Bound [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cannibalism, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Abuse, Gen, Immortality, JUST, Madness, Merlin!whump, Other, Possible Character Death, Resurection, Scars, Sensory Deprivation, Sensory Overload, Sequel, Starvation, Torture, because it probably will, consensual cannibalism, continuation of scars, emotionally, just pretend that everything terrible will happen, mental health, merlin whump, repetitive death for a single character, speaking of which
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 109,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3475703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollopheadedMerlin/pseuds/DollopheadedMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The continuation of Scars. Merlin and Arthur must adjust to their new lifestyle while also managing the threats that taunt them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forget

**Author's Note:**

> This is the continuation of a previous fic I wrote, titled "Scars". I recommend reading that before you continue. This may be confusing without the original fic.
> 
> EDIT (2017): Man, it's been a while since I wrote this fic and I gotta say that, whilst I'm still incredible proud to have written this, it has a LOT of errors. I just reread the whole thing and I am EMBARRASSED but I know you guys love this story and I too was very enthusiastic about it so it's not going anywhere. Part of me wants to go back and edit the whole thing but most of me doesn't want to spend the time. So, I;m just popping by to apologize for all of the grammatical and spelling errors and to thank you all for enjoying it anyways!

 

Arthur and Merlin had slept for days in the physician’s chambers. Neither of them had woken up much over the course of a week or two. Gaius was sure to make sure that they were properly medicated and, when they weren’t dead as a rock, Gwen and the knights would visit them for comfort. Most of what they got from them were some weak, droopy smiles or a whisper of encouragement not to worry. Once or twice throughout the duration of the time they were fully awake, always to Gaius’s inconvenience for they seemed to be more prone to wake up during the early hours of the morning. During such time, Gaius would ask Merlin questions about his kidnapper. Arthur did not do much talking. Gaius had grown awkward near the man ever since Merlin had told him that he knew about his magic.

“He knows,” he had said blissfully, a smile delicately painted between his cheeks, “and he’s okay with it, Gaius. He’s seen all the things I’ve done for him.”

Arthur was ready to move out of the physician’s quarters as soon as possible. Between the inopportune tension amongst them and Gaius’s snoring, Arthur found them unsuitable for a king the moment he was awake enough to be bothered by anything.

“I swear,” Arthur stated, “if I have to spend one more night in this dull, old place I’m going to tear my brains out.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. They’d been better for a day or two now so, when Gaius was out, all they had for company was each other, not that they had nothing to talk about. Despite Arthur and Merlin both having many questions to ask of the other, Arthur lost comfort in being near Gaius ever since Merlin had revealed that he divulged his secret.

“You can’t very well leave,” Merlin protested. “You can’t even cross the hall without collapsing if I’m not to follow you.”

“Well,” Arthur sighed, “you’ll have to come with me then.” He then proceeded to march up to Merlin’s bedroom.

“What are you—?”

Arthur found a satchel and put it on Merlin’s bed before he began filling it with what little clothes Merlin had in his wardrobe.

“Wow,” Merlin marveled, leaning up against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re actually doing work. This whole soul thing must have really _changed you,_ Arthur,” he joked.

Arthur huffed. “You,” he said, “are going to have to sleep in my chambers. We’ll divide the room in two, maybe even hang up a curtain and, if worse comes to worse and Gaius doesn’t find a cure for us, then I’ll order for renovations to be made and we will have joint rooms.”

Merlin scoffed as he unfolded his arms and stood up straight. “I didn’t know you were smart enough to devise such a plan.”

Arthur grunted in disapproval. “Just help me pack, will you, you lazy oaf? These _are_ your belongings.”

Merlin marched over to his bedside and removed one of the floorboards, revealing his spell book and staff. He hefted the staff up and out of the way, placing it up against the wall, so that he could easily slip the book out from beneath it. When he placed it on the bed, next to his satchel, Arthur eyed the ancient, worn bindings strangely.

“What is that?”

Merlin took a deep breath and said, “The spell book Gaius gave me.”

“Oh, right,” Arthur acknowledged, recalling faint memories of it from when he ventured inside Merlin’s head. With that, he stuffed it into the pack. Merlin took the blanket from his bed and rolled his staff up in it, prepared to carry it discreetly by his side.

The two of them left without telling Gaius of their intentions, knowing that he’d protest against them. After all, Merlin still wasn’t entirely healed; his wrists were still bandaged and raw from being strung up across that room.

A few servants were ordered to carry some of Merlin’s furniture up to Arthur’s chambers on their way up. They looked at Arthur questioningly but he shot them a look that shut them up before they could even begin. Merlin, of course, protested. “Arthur, isn’t that a bit much. I don’t think I’ll need everything.”

Arthur shrugged and they continued on their way. When all of Merlin’s things had been taken to the room, the two of them began to rearrange things. Arthur claimed the side of the room that his bed was already on and moved most of his belongings nearer to it.

Merlin had to drag his bed across the floor to the other side with no help from Arthur, naturally. The servants had also brought up his desk, chair, and a small chest filled with trinkets of his. Once Merlin had arranged the works so that it looked moderately like a bedroom, Arthur ordered him to put his clothes in the wardrobe and help him move it to the center of the wall. It would become the boarder of division for their sweet. 

Sighing with exhaustion when they had finally finished, Merlin plowed onto his bed, arms and legs aching.

“Oh,” Arthur teased, “get up, you lazy imbecile.”

Merlin groaned. However, before he could retaliate, Gaius burst through the door and Arthur and Merlin looked at him like two startled deer.

“There you are,” Gaius said, a tone of worry hiding beneath the scolding manner of his voice. “What are you two doing up?”

Merlin let out a long sigh. He really hadn’t wanted to get up out of bed. It was all Arthur’s doing, really.

“I thought we needed something more permanent if we are to be restricted to such a short distance apart,” Arthur said, placing his hands on his hips.

Gaius gave Arthur a sharp stare before he turned to Merlin. “Have your wrists healed yet?”

“They’re getting along,” Merlin replied.

“Are you tired?”

“Yes,” Merlin scoffed.

“Neither of you should be out of bed,” Gaius stated.

“Gaius,” Arthur nearly spat, “we’re _fine.”_

Arthur’s and Gaius’s eyes locked and they seemed to scowl out at each other while Merlin sat between them, utterly perplexed by the situation.

“I’ll be back to check on Merlin’s wrists later,” Gaius all but warned. With that, he left.

“What was _that?”_ Merlin asked once he thought Gaius was a safe distance away.

“What?” Arthur questioned, turning away and pretending to busy himself.

_“That.”_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur replied.

“What’s going on between you two?” Merlin inquired.

“Nothing,” Arthur said bitterly but it was all too much of a lie. He sat down in his chair with a heavy sigh and stared at the wall. “I don’t think Gaius trusts me with your secret,” he finally admitted.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“I don’t know!” Arthur said, his voice slightly elevated. He turned to Merlin as he said it.

It was silent for a moment. Then Merlin smiled. “I’ll talk to him,” he offered.

“No,” Arthur rejected. “You need to keep working with him to figure out who the sorceress was. Don’t bother him with that.”

Merlin looked down at the floor as silence smothered them. All Merlin had ever dreamed of from Arthur had come to pass but no matter how hard he wanted things to be perfect, there was always _something._

“I suppose we’ll have to come up with an explanation as to why we’ll be sharing a room,” Arthur said suddenly, having pulled all the frustration out of his voice as if nothing happened. “No doubt they’d be suspicious.”

“Well, we’ll tell them the truth,” Merlin quipped.

Arthur cocked an eyebrow.

“Save the bit about me having magic,” Merlin added.

Arthur nodded, slowly looking away from Merlin a blank look in his eyes. It was almost as if he wanted to feel sorry for Merlin, only he wasn’t quite sure how. Even though he had seen all there was to see in Merlin’s mind, he still had no clue as to how it must have been like to live with magic under a Pendragon’s nose for so long, especially being so close with one of them. He felt a knot form in his  stomach at all the pain he’d put Merlin through. Though unknowingly, Arthur still thought it cruel in his mind. However, he pushed the feeling away for his own sake.

 

 

A decision had been made and Arthur called the knights to his audience. Merlin stood behind him, hands clasping each other behind his back, as usual. Once the knights had all arrived and Gwen too was by his side at the throne, he stood and all eyes became instantly attentive to him. None of them had heard their king speak for an entire fortnight.

Arthur stood above the loyalist of his subjects and eyed them all, perceiving each of them slightly different than they had before. Not only did Arthur know their relation to him, but now he also knew all of their associations with Merlin as well. As he looked, his trust in each knight did not waver, for he saw that they were kind to his servant for the most part. He suddenly became aware of the brotherly relationship they all had with Merlin. He smiled at the thought for a brief moment, but then his scrutiny was lain upon Mordred. Whispers and echoes of prophecies clouded his mind as he evoked all the warnings Merlin had ever received. Then he thought of the magic, the secret he and Merlin had shared. But, somehow, it was different. His heart twisted and turned with all the emotions Merlin felt for the boy and yet they all seemed to be held at bay by his own trust towards him. It was a strange concoction of emotions to say the least.

When his mind was done surveying Mordred, Arthur’s head swiveled to Merlin, who too had been glaring at the young knight. They shared a look and Merlin knew Arthur was conflicted and confused. However, he also knew that Mordred was not the subject at hand. So, he took a deep breath and nodded for Arthur to continue.

Arthur told the knights and his queen a fantastic tale of Merlin being tortured by the sorceress for information about Camelot. He spoke of the war against Morgana and how she had sent this woman after Merlin, thinking he would be a weak link, easy enough to snap allowing her to break through the chain of Camelot’s defenses. However, Arthur assured his knights that Merlin had not given in and Merlin nodded along as if he complied with these matters in whole truth.

Once the knights were _finally_ satisfied, they all filed out of the council chambers, talking amongst themselves. Some came up to Merlin and pat him on the back in pity before they left. Merlin would thank them or give them an awkward nod in return. When Arthur and Merlin were finally alone again, it was as if their lies were a heavy fog and the humidity of it all was finally venting out of the room.

Merlin and Arthur accompanied each other to retrieve their lunch from the palace kitchens. It was a strange experience for Arthur, it being that he’d only ever really been in the kitchens once or twice to retrieve Gwaine when he pestered the cooks for too long. Once they’d gotten back to Arthur’s chambers, the sat down on opposite ends of the small dining table.

“I think we need to talk,” Arthur said suddenly, through his food.

“About what?” Merlin questioned as he swallowed a hunk of bread.

Arthur shook his head. “Everything,” he exhaled, “Your magic, mostly,” He paused,  
“and Mordred.”

Merlin’s head shot up and his eyes met Arthur’s. He’s rather being doing anything else than talking about Mordred, to be frank. One of Merlin’s greatest hopes and dreams had finally come to pass and he despised the thought of Mordred entering the picture and tainting the beauty he had achieved.

Arthur seemed to see his reluctance in his eyes for he let out a prolonged sigh and said; “I need to know what I’m supposed to do with him.”

“You don’t trust him,” Merlin spat, almost instantly. It was not a claim, it was a demand. He glared at Arthur for a moment longer before returning to his food, hoping the subject would drop. It didn’t.

“Merlin,” Arthur addressed, disregarding his food, “all that you have against him is from pure telltales. There’s no say in whether or not all the things you’ve been told will actually happen.”

“No,” Merlin denied. “They will happen and there’s nothing I can do about it.” Merlin’s fists were clenched as they rested on the tabletop. “You saw him all out of order. What I’ve lived through is different. No matter how hard I try to break his stride towards Morgana, he always ends up closer and more entwined with his destiny than before.”

A memory struck Arthur as he listened to Merlin’s words. He recalled leaving Mordred’s fate in Merlin’s hands back when his life was threatened by the Disir. “You’ve tried to kill him,” Arthur stated.

Merlin replied with a solemn nod. “More than once,” he added. “But it never works, Arthur. Destiny had foretold that he is your downfall and fate is working alongside it, ensuring the future that is predicted to come.”

Slowly, Arthur nodded his head. He’d never seen Merlin so serious in person. It was unsettling, like there was a great wisdom inside him that seemed to seep through. But it was not a sweet honey that oozed from Merlin’s words. It was tar. It was bitter. It fell heavy upon his tongue as if it were a burden. It were as if Merlin wished he was not the wise man that he was.

“I still do not think that this is reason to be prejudice of him,” Arthur persisted. “I believe that Mordred has good intentions and perhaps—“

“As did Morgana,” Merlin snapped. There was a darkness in Merlin’s eyes that Arthur had rarely seen before. “Was she not our friend and kind of heart? Fate is sweeping everyone away and there is nothing we can do about it, Arthur. Trust me. The only way to stop him from joining Morgana is—“

 _“Perhaps,”_ Arthur interrupted, desperate to get back to his point, “we can guide Mordred, keep him from straying off the path he is on now. He truly is loyal, Merlin. I think that, if we watch him closely, there is a way to prevent him from wondering down Morgana’s path.”

“He’s already on Morgana’s path!” Merlin spit. “It is the same, single trail with no forks or detours. It is inevitable that he will land in the clutches of Morgana and you must see that!” Merlin sat back, seemingly shocked by his own outburst. He took a deep breath and murmured words of apology that Arthur paid no mind to.

He had clasped his hands over each other and pressed his knuckles to his lips, his brow furrowed in deep thought.  He sat forward, arched over the table, eyes staring blankly out of focus. After a moment, he sat up and lowered his hands from his face and decided calmly, “Then we must set down our own path for him.”

Merlin had a wondrous look on his face then.  It appeared envious, like he craved the hope Arthur had for the future, the same hope that was slowly slipping away from Merlin, leaving him desperately clawing at it to keep hold, despite it being just out of his reach. However, in this moment, he was able to latch onto that hope, just barely keeping his grip as he dangled from it.

Arthur let loose a long, exaggerated sigh of boredom as the silence dragged on and, feeling confident that his servant was satisfied for the time being, he planned to move onto a topic that further interested him.

Just as Arthur had hoped, Merlin eyed him questioningly.

“There’s something else,” Arthur said, a sleek smile twitching at his lip.

Merlin cocked hi eyebrow, taking after Gaius so very well.

“I haven’t actually, really, _seen_ you do magic before,” he hinted, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Head tilted to the side and eyes squinting into a curious gleam, Merlin smiled in a way that made his lips disappear, leaving behind a thin line of a mouth that was almost sarcastically curled into a smirk.

Arthur averted his eyes for a few moments in embarrassment before looking back towards his friend, and eager glow emanating from his expression.

“You want me to show you my magic,” Merlin mused, his teeth poking out and his smile stretching into an amused grin.

Arthur gave Merlin a single nod, struggling to suppress his informal excitement and nerve racking discretion.

Heedlessly, Merlin stood up, the legs of his chair rubbing against the floor as he pushed it out from under him. “Alright,” he breathed, his chest sticking out for a brief moment. “What do you want to see?”

Arthur found himself precipitously gapping for words as he looked about the room for inspiration. But he was too eager to think of something. “I don’t know,” he shrugged.

Merlin sighed and turned his head to find his own source of creativity, something that Arthur obviously lacked. Merlin chuckled at the thought. Then, having spotted something, he turned back to Arthur with a slanted smile.

The sun was low in the sky and blared over the distant trees like the forest was on fire. Seeing this through the stained glass window of Arthur’s chambers, Merlin strode slowly towards the site, his back to Arthur. He inhaled audibly through his nose and gazed down at the golden square, speckled with the few figures of those who were still out on errands or passing through on their way home. His eyes then lingered upward until they were set upon the line of trees, beyond which he knew of a clearing near a lake.

Merlin huffed when an idea slowly crept into his mind like a cat wondering in a door ajar. Then sly eyes turned to look at King Arthur.

 

 

Hobbling over root and stone, the two ventured into the setting sun, waves of anticipation repeatedly smothering the both of them.

“Just tell me where we’re going, you dolt,” Arthur shouted ahead of him.

Merlin smiled to himself at how annoyed Arthur was and continued on walking. As they got nearer to their destination, Merlin only picked up speed, making it harder and harder for Arthur to follow as he weaved through the thick trees. So much so, that Arthur nearly ate the very soil he tripped on trying not to run straight into Merlin’s back.

Arthur groaned at his servant’s impudence as he found his footing and stood beside a highly amused Merlin who was smiling out at the lake, glistening with the fiery colors of the setting sun.

 “Alright, Merlin, where are we?” Arthur asked. When his servant didn’t answer he looked out at the lake, Merlin having been so transfixed on it. A vibrant feeling of recognition came over him as he gazed out upon it and he suddenly felt entirely sad. His heart sank to his toes and his fingers felt numb. Eyes glazed over and breath shaking, Arthur admired the reflection of the sun as it danced on the surface of the water. After they shared a long moment of utter fixation on the water, Arthur spoke again; “Merlin,” he uttered, “why are we here?”

Merlin closed his eyes for a brief moment and his smile broadened, though his lips still remained closed. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, opening his eyes again and taking in the image in question. When Arthur didn’t answer, he looked at him to insist that he did.

Swallowing hard at the lump in his throat, Arthur nodded. “Yes,” he said, though anything but beauty was what clouded his mind at the moment. Memories of Merlin’s being at this very lake ran past his eyes like a ghost. He’d come here, he had, though only once before, and Arthur pondered why he would ever return, especially with him of all people, after what he had done.

Merlin let the moment drag on just a bit longer before he slowly crouched down and sat on the grassy floor. Arthur looked down at him and, with one look from Merlin, knew he was to sit down beside him, and he did.

“I’ve never seen the sunset here,” Merlin said in a quiet voice, calm, smooth, and just above a whisper. “I’ve only ever seen it rise.”

“I know,” Arthur said, his eyes burning from the memory that never should have belonged to him. It was Merlin’s. He should not have stolen it from him. However, no matter how hard he tried, the fair face of a young, beautiful girl and that of Merlin’s wrinkled in an invisible pain from deep within him would not leave his mind. And their figures held hopelessly close to each other at the edge of the thick waters could still be seen, crying there, like a memory come to life.

“Merlin,” Arthur choked, “why do you want me to see this?”

A warm smile was put on the servant’s face again and he almost seemed to laugh a small laugh through his nose. “To me,” Merlin said, “this place isn’t a grave. It is . . .” he pondered for a moment, “a memory, though not of death, but of life. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. And I want to share it with you.”

“But I—“

“I know, Arthur,” Merlin stopped him. “But how were you to know? I know how you feel. Ever since we were brought back home, you’ve been looking at me differently. You look at me with sorrow and fear, both of and for me. You look at me as if I am your hound and you’ve hit me and think that when you next call me to your aid, I will limp and hesitate. You see me now as if I am something larger then I was before. But I’m not. I am the same person, in body and in soul. And I know you feel guilty and how hard it is to accept yourself after all the things you’ve put me through. But that is all past, Arthur.

“I will not hesitate to say that you have killed people that I love and I do not want you to feel as though it is something that turns me against your favor. I believe that you have always done what you thought was best for Camelot and I would put my life on those words.” Merlin swallowed and gathered his words before continuing. “I brought you here, because this was a difficult loss for me. Something that once brought me happiness and made my heart fly was slowly ripped away from me like a bandage over a fresh wound. And, even though there are many who would not have, I forgave you. You were not to know who she was and, in your eyes, there was but a monster, killing your people.

“Though, this memory is one I tend to keep in the back of my mind, I do very rarely let it return to me, if only to remember the bright pleasure that had been given to me before I came here. I have moved on, Arthur. I left all the anger and the sorrow here on the beach and let is slowly but surely go. And I wish that you might do the same. I want more than anything for you to leave it behind. Throw away all the memories you are not proud of that I have burdened you with. Leave them here with mine. I cannot bear to see you struggle beneath the weight of my own misfortunes. Though they may seem to be, they are not your fault. It pains me more to see you hate yourself in this way than it does to remember my own wounds. Because, Arthur, that feeling, that feeling of pure and utter weightlessness I felt all those years ago, I feel now, from you. I wish only for you to succeed, be happy, and become the incredible thing you are meant to be. I am nothing but proud of you, my king. No one mistake, nor no thousand, could cause me loose that trust in you.”

When Merlin turned to look at Arthur, his eyes were stained with the salt of his eyes which were glistening with the fires of the sun’s image on the lake. Arthur fell into Merlin, mumbling incoherent apologies and pleading his forgiveness. Merlin did nothing but embrace him. It felt good, to the both of them, to just let all of this go. It was an outstanding thing to see a noble cry. In a strange way, it was brilliant and almost beautiful in its own way; to see someone, who had bottled their feelings for their pride for so long, allow themselves to expose themselves and feel utter and pure emotion.

Their tears together falling, they felt a sort of twisted peace, twisted not in a way of corruption but like that of a braid, neat and bliss. Merlin stood, slowly and gradually, carrying Arthur up with him. And they walked to the lake. As they grew closer, they steadied until they were no longer in need of the support from the other and were only in touch by the way they each clutched tight onto the other’s sleeve.

As the sun sunk deeper and deeper below the surface of the mountains in the distance, the sky grew a more vibrant red and the lake looked less and less like water and more like lava. Without hesitation, Arthur and Merlin walked into the water steadily, crying at each other with smiles on their faces and laughter rising up in their throats. Their grips on each other lessened with each step, slowly letting go of the burdens they had carried for the one another as the water climbed up their skin and darkened the cloth of their clothes. The bands around their hearts snapped as their claps on each other slid away. Just as their fingers brushed away from the other’s, the sun vanished beneath the earth and everything was dark for a long moment as their hearts soared.

Lost in the peace of the moment, each one of his tears carrying another pointless burden or worry out from within him and dumping it into the lake, Arthur thought he heard Merlin say something in a hush. He saw a flash of gold amongst the black of night and then, in an awful, magnificent display, the moon burst out from the other end of the sky and lit up the world again. The lake was blue and the moon’s reflection danced around them. Arthur looked up and saw droplets of water fluttering around him, twinkling in the moonlight like a star up close.

The laughter within them burst through and a hearty song bellowed into the night.

 

 

Soaked and cold but not caring in the slightest, Arthur and Merlin slumped up the palace steps and made their way back to the royal chambers. However, it was not the comfort of sleep they were greeted with, but the worrisome wrath of Gaius who burst through the doors shortly after they had entered.

“Where are you coming from?” Gaius asked with haste, not bothering to knock or announce himself in any way.

“Gaius,” Arthur addressed him, trying to restore formality to the conversation. It did not work.

“Why are you back so late?” Gaius asked in an accusing tone.

The smiles on their faces loosened, though did not disappear completely. Merlin stepped forward and said, “Sorry, Gaius. We forgot. We went out to the woods to—“

 _“Merlin,”_ Gaius interrupted sharply, “this is serious! The two of you are incredibly unstable and to go out _alone_ could have been disastrous! What if you had been separated?”

Merlin cringed as he remembered running ahead of Arthur and suddenly realized that it could have been a major risk had Arthur not kept up. They shared a look and he knew Arthur was recalling the same thing.

“Why is it that you both seemed to have been drowned?” Gaius questioned, breaking the silence. He smoke more calmly now but still with an underlying vigor.

The two of them stammered for an explanation. When Gaius realized that neither of them were any bit willing to confess to what they had been doing, he cut them short and announced that it was time that he had checked on Merlin’s wrists.

He led Merlin to his bed, now strangely stationed in Arthur’s room, contrasting with all the high quality possessions that belonged to Arthur, and had him sit. Gaius pulled up Merlin’s chair and sat across form him. Merlin held out his arms for Gaius and he pulled them close and rolled up the sleeves of his jacket.

Merlin cringed as the physician slowly unwrapped the bandages from his arm. The skin was pink and fleshy, obviously having healed little since they were last checked on. Gaius let out a hum of disapproval towards the sight. “It should have scabbed over by now,” he stated. “I’ll have to give you some medicine to help it along.”

Having been prepared, Gaius pulled out some yarrow and some honey from his medicine bag, which Merlin only just then noticed he had with him. Then he took out new bandages before packing Merlin’s arms in them.

All the while, Arthur stood awkwardly to the side, arms folded across his chest, sneaking glances at Merlin’s wrists and feeling sorry for him.

Before Gaius left, he instructed Merlin to remove the bandages by midday and wash them in clean water. He then took his leave, insisting that any questions regarding the sorceress would have to wait until the next day, it being far too late for the two of them to be up in the first place.

By then, Arthur and Merlin were far too tired to even think of doing anything else. So, they both dried off and put on their night clothes, one at a time seeing that hopeless Arthur needed Merlin’s help, and slunk into their beds feeling renewed.

 

 

Somehow, Arthur convinced Merlin to trudge all the way out to the training ground early the next morning, when the sky was still gray. Arthur and Merlin stood a few feet apart, facing each other, squared off. Neither of them were wearing armor or chainmail. Nor did they have swords or weapons. Instead of dueling or getting fit, Arthur, for once, wanted to answer a question; perform an experiment, perhaps.

 “Why are we doing this?” Merlin moaned, knowing that some sort of pain would be involved.

Arthur huffed. “We need to know exactly how far apart we can go without hurting ourselves.”

“So, what?” Merlin questioned. “We’re just going to walk away from each other until we feel something?”

“Exactly,” Arthur said confidently. Though, now that he heard his plan out loud, it did seem somewhat childish.

Regardless, the two of them slowly began to pace backwards. It was a truly uneventful and most boring activity for the first few minutes. But they both stopped short once they were about ten yards apart. A sort of twang caused them both to shudder, a cold feeling arising in their chests.

“’You feel that?” Arthur called.

Merlin nodded. “Yeah.”

Much to Merlin’s dismay, Arthur continued to backpedal and he took it upon himself to do so as well. As the distance between them got larger and more agitating, rivets of strange feelings seemed to vibrate through them, starting as strange sensation only to grow into pain that caused their limbs to shake with each step they took.

“Arthur,” Merlin called out in worry.

“You’re feeling it?” Arthur answered, though Merlin could hardly hear over the morning winds.

They continued to slowly back away from each other. Arthur watched Merlin, wondering if the feelings between them were entirely mutual. His knees were weak beneath him and the corners of his vision began to blur, turning Merlin’s figure into nothing but a shadow in the distance.

His sight fading away and his legs giving out from underneath him, Arthur could just _barely_ catch a glimpse of Merlin’s dark figure collapsing across the field.

“Merlin!” Arthur cried, but it only just escaped his lips, nothing but a whisper. He stumbled forward only for his legs to buckle underneath him. He crawled a few paces, frantically trying to climb back to his feet. When he finally did, he staggered towards his friend, finding him on his back with his eyes closed, almost peacefully.

“Merlin,” Arthur said through a panting breath, “are you alright?” He crouched over Merlin with his hands on his knees.

Merlin brow furrowed and he replied; “Yeah.”

“Can you get up?” Arthur questioned.

“Yeah,” Merlin said again, not opening his eyes.

Arthur looked down at him questioningly. He didn’t move.

Merlin let out a long sigh and turned his head so that his cheek rested softly against the grass. “Though, I don’t really want to.”

At that, Arthur smiled and sat down next to him, letting his breath steady. The dreadfully awful feeling that had arisen in him like bile seemed to have evened out, thinning until it was gone completely. It was silent for a while, the morning cool rushing over them. Then Merlin lifted his head up, opening his eyes to look at Arthur. “But Arthur,” he said. “Don’t ever have me do that again.”

Arthur scoffed, but he took the words kindly, internally promising himself that he never would.


	2. Lift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another problem is added to the towering pile as Arthur struggles with a drastic situation.

“So,” Arthur’s voice rang out. He was sitting across from Merlin, eating a late breakfast. His servant seemed particularly hungry that morning, scarfing down his food like he’d never taste a single bite to eat ever again. Arthur took this as an opportunity to make a rather delicate proposal to Merlin, while his mind was preoccupied elsewhere. “Court Sorcerer or Court Warlock?”

A sudden sputter of food spat out of Merlin’s mouth. His eyes widened and he began to choke on the very food he had struggled to contain in his surprise. Heaving out spurts of breath that barely made it past the literal lump in his throat, Merlin managed to wheeze an exasperated, _“What?”_

“You’re right,” Arthur said with sarcasm dripping off his tongue, ignoring his servants struggle and finding his alarmed reaction extremely amusing, “Court Magician, then?”

However, when Merlin still did not answer, he became clear to Arthur that his servant was _indeed_ choking. Arthur’s eyes widened as he realized Merlin’s struggle to breath. Luckily enough, Merlin managed to knock the food back into his throat and swallow it down whilst emptying the contents of his cup, before Arthur would have had to intervene.

Bent over the table, Merlin sputtered, “Are you mad?”

Arthur huffed. “You can’t pretend that you don’t deserve the recognition, Merlin! You might be the worst servant ever regarding formal matters, but, from the looks of it, you’ve put forth more than any knight of Camelot. You should be rewarded _something!”_

Merlin’s eyes swelled up in woe. “Arthur, I never wanted recognition. The only reward anyone can give me is the surety that Albion will one day be achieved.” Merlin took a deep breath, regaining himself. He looked Arthur up and down with a gleam in his eye. “That,” he added, “and your safety.”

Looking up at him, Arthur marveled at Merlin’s way of thinking. He had always thought him brave but he now also saw his selflessness. Merlin was even more selfless than he and it used to never cross his mind. He would curse himself for all the things he put Merlin through and damn what that saint of a man thought. It wasn’t in Arthur’s nature to forgive himself and, even though Merlin insisted that it was not himself whom he should blame, he still felt guilt sliver across his heart every time someone mentioned the young man’s sacrifices. 

“Well,” Arthur sang, “I’m not interested in what you want Merlin.” He pushed out away from the table and swung onto his feet. “You deserve it and it is my duty as king to uphold your right to be honored.”

“But you can’t very well tell the whole of Camelot that I’m a sorcerer!” Merlin protested. “Morgana will surely find me out and know who Emrys is. If that ever happens then all is lost!”

Arthur spun around to look Merlin in the eyes. His voice had cracked and there was a strong sense of worry in his eyes. The worry, however, was not for himself, but for Arthur. He could tell, his eyes shining under his furrowed brow, protection projecting out from them, cloaking Arthur in an understanding. At this, Arthur nodded slowly and complied with Merlin’s wishes.

Merlin, noticing the sudden sadness in Arthur’s eyes, spoke up. “Arthur—“

“No,” the king apologized, “you’re right. I shouldn’t have thought that I could risk your safety like that. It’s your secret and I have no right to divulge it.”

Merlin bit his lip, thinking over Arthur’s words, indecisive as to what he should say. “Thank you,” he finally replied, having thought of nothing else.

“However, Merlin,” Arthur continued cheerfully, “if there is _anything_ you need doing, I will gladly lend you the favor.”

A cheeky smile possessed Merlin as he thanked Arthur once more.

It was then that Guinevere walked in. She paused awkwardly in the doorway before she continued on to greet her husband with a kiss, which was lovingly returned by her king.

“Is everything alright?” Gwen asked casually.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Arthur questioned, sporting a flirtatious smile.

Merlin’s gaze wandered away from the pair, unable to leave and give them any _proper_ privacy. He seemed to shrink in the chair, willing himself to disappear.

“Well, I _did_ have to clean up your dinner plates last night. I don’t blame Merlin for having a hard time serving you without being able to leave your side.”

Merlin blushed at the attention. “Sorry,” he murmured. He had entirely forgotten about the dishes the night before, the two of them having been thoroughly exhausted after a long day of training followed by a painstakingly extensive council session regarding weapons cargo headed for Camelot that had been attacked by Morgana’s allies.

“Arthur,” Gwen sighed, a concerned look on her face, “It’s been a week since you and Merlin have recovered. It’s hasn’t gone unnoticed how difficult it is for the both of you to uphold your duties.”

“What are you suggesting?” Arthur inquired.

“We just think that, maybe, you and Merlin ought to get an additional servant to lighten your load.”

“What?” Merlin and Arthur responded simultaneously, both utterly beside themselves at such an _absurd_ suggestion.

“It’s not that I don’t think you can handle things on your own . . .”

“Which we can,” Arthur injected, suddenly rather defensive.

“. . . but we were thinking that another free set of hands might _help_ a bit, considering your . . . _conditions.”_ Gwen was struggling to sound inoffensive but she couldn’t find quite the right words to express what she felt. She displayed an uncomfortable smile as the two in question shared a look.

Looking past Merlin, at the candle on his desk, Arthur quickly changed the subject. “It’s late morning now!” he exclaimed, nodding to the ticks on the candle. “Gaius will be expecting us, come on Merlin.”

Merlin nodded and cleared their plates, intent of having them stop by the kitchen to return them. He rose, nodded to Gwen, and soon was following Arthur out the door with a bit too much haste to seem ordinary.

They walked in a silent pace until they reached the kitchens. Merlin lent the dishes to a maid and was back at Arthur’s side in a flash. Only then did either of them speak.

“You don’t think . . .” Merlin pondered aloud.

“No,” Arthur stated firmly, not looking at Merlin. However, after a short moment, he couldn’t help but glance over at the servant. “Do you?”

Merlin took a deep breath and listened to their footsteps march along the stone floor. “What could George do that I couldn’t?” he replied cheekily.

Arthur let out a short laugh as they continued on to meet Gaius in his chambers.

 

 

A welcoming rush of warmth draped Merlin as he entered his old dwellings. He smiled to Gaius as Arthur strode in, a question sliding off his lips. “Have you found anything out about those markings?” he asked.

Merlin had described the markings on the sorceress to Gaius to the best of his ability, drawing several of them out on scratch parchment. His illustrations were now laid out on Gaius’s work table, being compared to ones in his tomes.

“Unfortunately,” Gaius sighed, “the ones that I _could_ identify are relatively insignificant. Most of the symbols are merely enchantments used to enhance one’s use of magic. There is nothing to even indicate she was related to the Catha.”

Merlin frowned and ventured over to the books and papers sprawled out on the table. He eyed them as if looking at them long enough would tell him what they meant. As he gazed Arthur and Gaius conversed over unimportant things, a thought occurred to him.

“Maybe we should just let her go,” he said without thinking. The chatter between the other two in the room came to an abrupt stop. When no one answered him he looked up at the concerned faces of his friends. He licked his lips while he thought of how to continue before speaking. “She meant no real harm. She did what she thought was right. It’s not her fault that she was unexperienced. If it weren’t for her, I’d still have to hide my magic from Arthur. Perhaps we should be thankful and let her be.” He sounded as though he was asking a question rather than projecting a statement.

“Merlin,” Arthur groaned, “she strung you up and had me torture you. I won’t let her actions go unpunished.”

“The king is right,” Gaius said. “We need to find this woman to figure out what spell she used if we’re ever going to try and reverse its affects.”

Merlin nodded. He had almost forgotten about her usefulness in finding the solution.

“I have yet to run the symbols past Geoffrey,” Gaius said, breaking the awkward silence. “I may seek out his input later today, in fact. He may be of some help.”

Merlin and Arthur nodded before reluctantly leaving to attend another stressful council meeting. Merlin stood close behind Arthur, hands folded, as usual. Knights, returned from patrol, entered to give their report on the area surrounding the slaughter involving the cargo carriage.

Sir Leon stepped forward and explained their findings. According to him, all tracks that might have been left by the Saxons who had attacked were washed away in the following rain. The other knights who had accompanied him nodded in agreement as the report went on. When all was finished the king spoke.

“So we have no idea as to what direction they went?” Arthur questioned. Leon replied with a formal response in the negative. Arthur pondered for a moment, turned to Merlin, and, having received an equally dumbfounded look, dismissed the council.

“Do you think that maybe they had sorcerers with them?” Arthur asked in a hush as he and his servant wondered towards the weapons room.

“It is possible,” Merlin acknowledged. “Why?”

“Perhaps one of them conjured up the rain to cover their path,” Arthur suggested.

Merlin shook his head. “None of her men could be powerful enough to do that. I’m not even sure _Morgana_ is capable of controlling the weather.”

“But _you_ _can,”_ Arthur adulated. Merlin looked at him to find a glare in his eyes and a grin snuck onto his face. However, the look was quickly wiped away, Arthur too boastful to let a compliment hang in the air. “Of course it wasn’t a very _spectacular_ display. All you did was bring down a single bolt of lightning. The least you could’ve done was clear things up afterwards. But, no, you left Camelot in a drenching downpour for nearly _three days.”_

But Merlin was still smiling. “Are you really that much of a pompous _prat_ that you can’t let me have _one_ compliment?” he teased.

“Nope,” Arthur answered and he slapped Merlin’s back.

Merlin shrugged out of reach as they gathered into the armory to get their supplies for training. Once the two of them were ready for another long day of practice, they strode out, a heap of weapons and supplies in the smaller man’s arms.

 

 

Once again, Merlin found himself cowering beneath a target that was fastened to his back. He could only be thankful that his wrists had healed, or else the handles would have rubbed up against his raw flesh causing more discomfort. He had hoped that, given Arthur knew how he felt during previous training experiences, that the king would be more delicate with his blows than he was before their epidemic. However, that was anything but the case.

Hopping and chasing after nothing, the servant strode across the training field as king and knight alike took their turns releasing arrows at the man, each hit lurching him into an uncomfortable bend. It wasn’t until the training was over, however, until things went awry.

“Alright, Merlin” Arthur called, “that’s enough for today, you can rest if you like!” But the target didn’t move and the legs poking out from under it were stiff. “Merlin?”

The poor man didn’t even realize that his master was speaking. He just stood there, staring off into the distant trees as if looking for something. There was an odd buzzing sound in his head. It seemed to him as though it was supposed to mean something, but he couldn’t make anything out of it. So he stared and listened, zoning out in concentration. The sound was pleading but hesitant and he couldn’t describe how he knew its emotion, but he did, and he was all too engrossed in this when Arthur came and clapped his hand on his shoulder.

Merlin snapped back in surprise but his knees gave out underneath him so he stumbled down a bit before Arthur was pressing a hand against his chest to hold him up. Though, wavering for a moment, Merlin easily stood back up on his own while Arthur worriedly pulled the target off of his back. It was then that the warlock realized his friend had been talking to him.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, just covering his panic. “What happened?”

Merlin looked around, slightly confused when the knights slowly circled around them. He realized suddenly that he might have scared them by nearly falling over like that, specifically so shortly after his and Arthur’s ordeal. The knights were all told that he was properly tortured. “Nothing,” he replied, hastily coming to his senses.

“I didn’t . . .” Arthur stammered for a moment, “walk off to quickly, did I?”

Merlin was quick to reassure Arthur. “Ah, no. It-it wasn’t that. I just . . .” He looked back towards the woods that peeked over the city buildings curiously. “It was-it was nothing,” he resolved.

The knights looked warily at each other and the king sighed. “Alright! That’s enough for today, I think!” He smiled and tried to lighten the mood with some humor. “I think we’ve sweat enough over Merlin, here.” He nudged his friend in the side and they all laughed, though not as heartily as one would hope.

As Merlin gathered up Arthur’s accessories he caught Mordred’s eye and, though their gaze was only in place for a moment, he could see a flare of confusion, worry, and anticipation there within his expression. He could do nothing but wonder if they had heard the same thing.

 

 

“Now tell me what that was _really_ about,” Arthur scolded, arms folded and eyes glaring accusingly at Merlin.

Merlin slumped down on the floor of Arthur’s chambers, back against his bed, and began scrubbing one of his highness’s leathery boots. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he sighed, trying to sink away into concentration.

 _“Merlin,”_ Arthur whined. “You need to tell me the truth.”

“I wouldn’t want to bother you with it Arthur,” Merlin protested. “Besides, I’m not even sure _what_ exactly happened myself.”

Arthur let out a long, audible breath and let his arms hang loose at his sides. He stared down at Merlin working away for a few moments before climbing down to the floor and sitting beside him. Merlin glanced up from his work and eyed Arthur with a muddled look.

“Just,” Arthur pressed, “tell me what happened.”

Merlin hadn’t realized that his hands had stopped working until Arthur’s eyes twinkled with plea. How could he refuse such a simple behest from his closest friend after all that had happened? He let a breath out through his nose and resumed working away at the grime and mud as he fulfilled Arthur’s wishes.

“It was a sort of buzzing sound,” Merlin explained. He paused for a moment, debating whether he should continue. “In my head,” he added. “It might have been a Druid calling out but I couldn’t understand it. It was just _noise._ I’m not entirely sure if it was intentional.” His brow furrowed, eyes locked on his work.

“So you let some ear ringing cause your knees to buckle?” Arthur badgered.

Merlin scoffed. “That didn’t happen.”

“Ah,” Arthur argued, “but it did! You nearly fell over! I had to hold you up. If it weren’t for me, you’d have a face full of mud.” Arthur beamed at Merlin, hoping that the taunting would continue.

A smile creeped its way onto Merlin’s face, despite his efforts to leave Arthur thinking he was serious. After a moment of not being able to find a suitable retaliation, Merlin began to mumble insults under his breath. “Pompous, arrogant, pretentious, smug little—Hey!”

Arthur jabbed his elbow into Merlin’s side, causing him to jump and lose hold of both the boots and his scrub. The king let out a sharp “Ha!” before he jumped to his feet and went about his own business.

 

 

For the majority of the night, Merlin slept well. He was thankfully for the restful sleep and graciously slipped away after he was done with his work. He, however, was ungratefully disturbed from his slumber when a whisper aroused him.

At first it was simply bothersome and he shifted under his bed sheets, trying to ignore the incoherent noise, but eventually it became insistent. It sounded like a call, as if someone were trying to reach out to him but had no knowledge of how to speak. Gradually, the whispers became cries and the cries became words and they haunted him awake.

Starting upright Merlin looked around the room, as if he expected the owner of the strange voice to be hiding away in the chambers. When he came to his senses, he squinted his eyes shut and listened carefully to what was struggling to be said. As he did so, the moans and groans of a plea morphed into something understandable.

 _Please, please._ It was the voice of a girl. She sounded desperate. _I need help. I am wounded. Please, someone has to be listening._ It was strenuous for Merlin to hold onto the voice’s audibility, so he sprung to his feet, causing a clatter as he fumbled to pull on his boots and throw his jacket on over his night clothes.

Arthur jumped into awareness at the sound of his servant rumbling about. Agitated with the man for interrupting his sleep, he clambered out of bed.

 _“Merlin_ what are you doing?” he groaned with a yawn.

“We need to see Mordred,” Merlin breathed, barely paying his answer any thought.

“What?”

“Please Arthur,” Merlin deterred, “just put your shirt on.” He tossed Arthur a white tunic from the nearby closet and was soon able to drag the miffed king from his quarters.

Stomping through the halls with each step slapping against the floor of the hollow corridor, they echoed through the castle. Merlin’s pace was steadily headed towards Mordred’s chambers, though he jittered slightly in a way that worried his friend close behind. Arthur was irate. He charged forwards once he finally had his foot situated properly in his boot and interrogated his charge.

“Why are we waking our knights in the middle of the night, _Merlin?”_

“The noise from the training field,” Merlin clarified, “I heard it again. It’s a voice.”

“And what does this have to do with Mordred?”

“He’s a Druid. He can communicate telepathically, just as I. I’m hoping that he might recognize who’s trying to contact us.”

Bewildered by Merlin’s logic, Arthur shook his head but continued to follow Merlin until they were at Mordred’s door. Merlin put his hand on the handle, prepared to swing the door open and charge inside, but Arthur pulled his arm away and glared at him.

“What are you doing?” Arthur warned.

“I need to know who this person is, Arthur. She sounds hurt. What if Mordred knows where she is?”

“And how are you going to explain to Mordred why I know about this—this mind reading business?”

Merlin stepped back, realizing the rationality in his master’s statement.

“Here,” Arthur said, about to devise a plan, but he never got to continue because Mordred appeared, standing attentive in the doorway.

“Milord?” he questioned. His eyes wandered across the scene to the second figure present. “Merlin,” he addressed, nodding his head in acknowledgment. He was in his night clothes and had bags under his eyes, seemingly having been in the midst of a restless sleep.

One look at Mordred’s tired condition and Merlin sprung an interest. “You’re hearing them too?” he questioned, nearly forgetting about Mordred’s obliviousness to Arthur knowing their secret.

Mordred painted a puzzled look on his face, but there was worry in his eyes. He pondered why Merlin would speak so openly about Druid speak with Arthur right by his side. “I don’t know what you’re . . .” he trailed off. Arthur had let out a deep sigh and glared at Merlin.

“Mordred,” he said, easily changing the subject, “may we have a word with you for a moment in private? It’s somewhat urgent.”

“Of course,” Mordred agreed, bowing slightly and letting the pair enter his chambers.

When the door was shut and Arthur was sure that no late night strollers might be able to overhear them if they were to walk by, he turned to Mordred. Much to merlin dismay he blatantly declared, “I know about your magic, Mordred.”

A panicked Merlin swiveled his head towards his king in a record speed as Mordred eyed Merlin with fury in his eyes. Before Arthur could comprehend what was happening, Mordred had lunged forward and struck Merlin against the wall.

The back of Merlin’s head hit the stony wall hard, an audible _crack!_ ringing in the room. “Why did you tell him?” Mordred growled, holding Merlin up by his shirt. “It’s because you _hate_ me!”

Arthur was already trying to pry the knight off of his servant when Merlin was able to finally focus on what was happening. His head was throbbing as he shook it and declared, “No.” Merlin held out his hand and Mordred instantly let him loose. Arthur saw a spark of fear rose up in the Druid’s eyes as he backed away, glaring daggers at the boy.

“Mordred!” Arthur shouted, then said in a strong but hoarse tone, “Merlin did not divulge your secret any more than he did his own.”

Mordred looked at Merlin confused, then back at Arthur, who resolved to tell him with a sigh; “Merlin wasn’t tortured for information when he was taken by the sorceress. He was enchanted. The moment I found him . . . I saw all of Merlin’s memories. Anything that he’s told me was not of his own will.”

Mordred glanced at Merlin again, who nodded in confirmation. It was then that he noticed Merlin’s hand clasped over the back of his head. Arthur followed Mordred’s gaze and hurriedly stepped to Merlin’s side.

He tore Merlin’s hand away from his head to find it stained with a thin layer of blood. “I’m fine,” Merlin said grimly as he yanked his hand away and placed it back against his head.

Arthur let out a huff and turned back to Mordred. “I’m not here to execute you, Mordred,” he paused and glared back at his servant.

“Mordred,” Merlin addressed him as he let his arm fall from where it had been pressed against his skull, “you _have_ heard a Druid calling out as of late, yes?”   

The knight looked at Arthur warily once more before he nodded. “Yes.”

“We both know that you’re better at communicating with the Druids. Are you able to tell where the calls are coming from or, at least reach out to her and ask her where she is?”

“I have tried to contact her,” Mordred breathed. “She cannot hear me. However, I believe that it is coming from somewhere close to where the cargo carriage was attacked.”

Arthur’s eyebrows rose. “Perhaps the knights had been escorting her back to Camelot. Maybe she had been in need of service.”

“Regardless,” Merlin interjected, “she’s fading. If we are to help her, we have to do so now.”

Arthur looked to Mordred and he nodded. “Merlin’s right.”

“Alright,” Arthur agreed. “We’ll leave at first light and tell the men that we’re investigating the attack. Be ready, Mordred.”

“Yes, sire,” Mordred responded, though not with the same undying loyalty that his voice usually held.

 

 

The three of them set off early, as promised. The whole while that they rode, Arthur and Merlin both eyed Mordred cautiously. Merlin had been surprised that he had not held his grudge against him longer. Whenever their eyes met, Merlin could see mistrust in Mordred’s eyes, but their gazes never held for long for they both would quickly look away. Arthur, for the most part, kept his horse between the two of them, worried that their wariness of each other might cause something. The last thing he wanted was to lose Mordred’s trust, especially now that he knew of the prophecies.

Once they reached the wreckage of the cargo carriage, Mordred nodded towards the northeast, where he suspected the girl to be hidden away. As the ventured closer and the day grew older, Merlin’s head began to throb. He’d nearly forgotten about the blow he had suffered the night before and, frankly, wasn’t too ecstatic about the pain returning.

It wasn’t long past midday when Merlin and Mordred heard the voice cry out once more. Both of their heads snapped up in alarm and they listened intently to what was trying to be said, Arthur remaining a curious onlooker.

 _Please. Please._ Was all that either of them could make out. Her voice was barely present and it was obvious that she was in terrible pain. All other things that she said were drowned out and inaudible. “She’s weak,” Mordred warned before he squeezed his horse’s sides and clicked his tongue, directing it to move on.

The voice had stopped soon after they continued. However, a sense of dread and hurt still lingered in the minds of the Druid and the warlock. Arthur followed them suit until they came upon a cave, overgrown with vines and other verdant things. Merlin could sense that the girl was inside now and told Mordred and Arthur to stay close behind as they entered. Arthur found it strange to be ordered to do something by Merlin, but he listened willfully.

As they crept into deeper parts of the small cave, the sound of ragged, strained breathing began to fill the air. It was, at first, difficult to locate due to the sound bouncing off the cavern walls in every direction. Despite this, a young girl, seemingly unconscious, came into view, having hid behind a large obstructer in the wall and drifted off into a feverous sleep.

Merlin quickly was beside the young victim and pushed her long, brown hair away from her eyes so that he may place his hand on her brow. “She’s succumbed to a fever,” Merlin informed his accompanies. Arthur and Mordred inched closer while Merlin attempted to rouse the girl, but, the moment Mordred caught sight of her face, he dropped down beside Merlin and cupped her head in his hands. “Kara!” he called, strong recognition stinging in his voice.

Merlin looked back at Arthur and he looked at Merlin. Both of them had a surprised and wary expression on their face as they stood by the worried Druid.

When they turned back to him, Mordred was breathing heavily, in a panic. “Please, we have to help her! She’s dying!”

Without discussion, Merlin and Arthur agreed, silently having decided that any questions could be held off for later. “But let me tend to her first, before we go,” Merlin protested. “She’ll need strength for the trip back to Camelot.”

So, Merlin discovered Kara’s wound, an arrow once lodged in her leg, long since removed. “She should not have taken it out,” Merlin murmured as he worked to quickly clean and bandage it. Mordred stood hovering over them, incapable of being held still.

“How do you know her?” Arthur asked quietly as Merlin began to put his supplies back in his bag.

“She’s an old friend,” Mordred replied solemnly.

Arthur nodded.

Merlin assisted Mordred in fastening the girl to his horse before they all set out for Camelot. It was a silent ride. No one spoke. The mistrust between Mordred and his allies was growing steadily as the day grew old and night was born. Merlin and Arthur shared many wary glances at one another and back at the knight who would often smile down at his injured friend, his brow brought together in worry. It was soon that the night had become too dark to safely travel in and, despite Mordred’s disapproval, they settled in and made camp.

Mordred laid Kara out comfortably against a tree as Merlin retrieved the firewood. When he returned he prepared the kindling and brought the flames to life with a wave of his hand. Mordred’s gaze quickly set on Arthur, who had given Merlin an awkward but warm smile. Mordred couldn’t help but let a grin slip onto his own lips, swimming in the sudden feeling of hope that consumed him.

It was just before the dawn when the girl sputtered awake, alarmed by her change in location. She glared madly at the men before her. However, her intimidating gaze didn’t last long, for she winced in pain and doubled over, placing her hands on her leg.

Merlin crouched beside her and hushed. “Don’t move. You’ll only agitate it.” He put a hesitant hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently back against the tree.

Kara quickly smacked Merlin’s hand away from her and snapped, “Who are you.”

Merlin would have told her his name had it not been for the fearful look she gave him. He could tell that she sensed his power and was immediately sorry for causing such fear. “I am Emrys,” he said with a solid voice. He managed a small smile.

The girl’s eyes widened and glanced at the two men behind Merlin, as if for confirmation, but, the moment she set eyes on Mordred, she broke out into a teary smile and called out his name.

Before Merlin could stop her, she had launched up off the ground and wrapped her arms around Mordred, who embraced her dearly. They reunion was short and sweet before Kara asked, “Is it true?” both hesitation and hope in her voice.

“It is,” Mordred stated. He smiled at her, but she frowned. “What is it?”

She pushed away from him. “Why?”

It was then that Mordred noticed the way she eyed his cape and starred daggers at the Pendragon crest. Mordred’s brow furrowed in remorse.

“How could you, of all people, become a knight?” she asked, truly torn by the madness before her. “And of Camelot!” she added.

Merlin looked to Arthur, worried. When their eyes met, Arthur knew Merlin wanted him to keep back to avoid recognition. So, Arthur paced away from the glow of the fire.

“I believe in Arthur,” Mordred responded. He nodded to his king, spoiling his efforts to keep anonymous.

Kara stared wide eyed at Arthur, now utterly aware of his presence. There was a glimmer of hate in her gaze that turned Arthur’s stomach in knots. He was about to construct some sort of response when Merlin spoke for him. “I know what you’re thinking,” Merlin eased, “but Arthur is not his father. He does not see the evil in magic that Uther once did.”

“I’d like to hear it from his own mouth!” Kara challenged.

“What my father did was wrong,” Arthur firmly responded, taking a step forward to look down upon the girl. “I accept that and I hope to one day create peace between our people.”

“There _was_ peace between the people until the _Pendragons_ came and slaughtered my kind! You’re all that’s left of your father! He’s dead and you’re the spitting image of him and all his sins! And you, Arthur Pendragon, are no king to me, but a coward and you stand _no chance_ against Morgana!” Kara lunged forward, dagger appearing in her hand, seemingly from nowhere. She stumbled forward and let the knife fly loose off her fingertips, its destination resting within Arthur’s chest. However, the moment Merlin had spotted the weapon, a spell was already rolling off of his tongue and the dagger spiraled off course.

Arthur instinctively snatched Kara’s outstretched Arm and pulled her closer, twisting the limb behind her back. She wriggled and jabbed at him with her free arm, but that was soon incapacitated as well.

“You tried to kill me,” Arthur stated as he held her still.

“I’m only sorry that I failed,” she growled in response.

“Kara,” Mordred pleaded quietly, a loss for words.

“Set her down,” Merlin requested. “I’ll give her a sleeping draught. I need to replace her bandages and her wounds bound to have opened up with all the pressure she’s putting on it. I’m surprised she’s able to perform like this with the fever she had earlier.”

Arthur did as he was told and Merlin followed suit. Mordred sat quietly beside them and waited for his king to step back before he looked to him and pleaded, “Please, Arthur. She is young. She doesn’t understand what she’s doing. Don’t arrest her, please. I beg of you, let me try and help her.”

“She works for Morgana, Mordred,” Arthur protested. “She cannot be trusted.”

“I will make her see sense!” Mordred argued desperately.

Arthur paused to properly look at his knight. “She means something huge to you, doesn’t she?”

Mordred nodded. “More than you could possibly know.”

Arthur looked him over, studying the uneasy breaths that staggered past his lips and the way his eyes had glazed over. “Alright, but you must let us help you. If she does succumb to Camelot, we could get important information on Morgana.”

Mordred smiled and bowed his head with renewed vigor. “Thank you, sire! You will not regret it!”

At that moment, Merlin clapped his hands together and brushed the dirt off his pants as he stood. Kara was asleep again and the sky was growing grey with the approaching sun. “We might as well leave for Camelot now, it’s nearly dawn.”

Arthur nodded. “Mordred,” he called. He nodded for his knight to come and he did so, lifting Kara into his arms. After they were all mounted and readied, the set off for Camelot once more.

“Do you really think that Mordred can help her?” Merlin asked in a whisper. He and Arthur were riding ahead of Mordred, side by side.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said glumly. “All we can do is hope, I suppose.”

“We can’t leave him alone with her, you know that,” Merlin stated.

Arthur gave Merlin a questioning look.

“She’s a Druid. Or she was one. Mordred must have known her from his childhood. He’s bound to take her side over ours if worse comes to worse. And we can’t let her go. No, she’ll tell Morgana everything.”

Arthur nodded. “I know.”

 

 

Kara woke to find herself in a strange place. There were bottles and vials filled with strange liquids, bubbling, fizzing, and oozing. The walls were lined with books and passages, some labeled in languages she didn’t recognize. She sat up and realized that she was in a cot. She peered around until she found the back of an old man with a mess of flat, grey hair.

“Try not to stir,” he said as he turned around and tended to her leg. She was surprised by the hospitality and kept silent, eyeing the physician suspiciously, mistrust sparking form her eyes. “You’re fever’s all but gone, I’m glad to say. It’s your leg that still needs treating. Hold it still, would you?” She did as she was told, eyes wandering to where the old man dabbed her wound with a poultice, tinted as strange sallow color. “That should stop the bleeding.” Gaius pulled out some bandages and wrapped her wound.

Gaius left her side and her eyes followed him, searching for alternative intentions. “Merlin and Arthur tell me that you know Mordred,” he said to her as he sat down in a stool beside her.

She nodded. “He’s a knight,” she said, but her voice sounded bitter.

“Yes,” Gaius replied. “And he is one of the youngest knights Camelot has ever had. I dare say that Arthur trusts him with his life.”

“And he knows of his magic?” Kara questioned.

“Indeed,” Gaius confirmed.

Merlin and Arthur charged into the room. Arthur was snapping at his servant about duties and responsibility and Merlin just continuously came up with witty retorts until he noticed the Druid girl, awake.

“Oh,” he murmured. “Sleep well?” He tried to keep up a friendly demeanor, but that was difficult when he was talking to someone who tried to take Arthur’s life.

Kara inhaled deeply, glaring at the all-powerful warlock before her. “Yes.”

“Good,” Arthur injected, before Merlin could make a mess of things. “Merlin and I were hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?” she questioned defiantly.

“You,” Merlin said, his voice was deep with determination.

“What about Mordred?”

“Him too,” Arthur added. “He’ll be waiting for us when we get there.”

“Where?”

There was a silence.

“The interrogation chambers,” Merlin clarified.

“I am to be interrogated?” Kara asked.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak but Merlin was too quick.

“Well, you _were_ found near where Camelot’s cargo carriage was destroyed, and you _did_ mention Morgana’s uprising, and you _also_ pulled a dagger on our king. So, yes there are a few _questions_ we’d like answers to.”

 _“Merlin,”_ Arthur warned. Merlin straightened himself. He hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten to the girl as he spoke, or how her leered over her like a predator. “It’s nothing to be worried about,” Arthur reassured. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

Kara said nothing. She simply stood and followed them wherever they lead her.

When they reached the chambers, Mordred was already inside, as expected. He greeted them with a bow and gave Kara a wary smile as he opened the door. They sat her down in a chair and stood over her, prepared to ask questions.

Kara took note that she wasn’t bound and that the fire was lit to its full capacity, keeping the room warm and welcoming. But she didn’t see it that way. She saw it as a persuasion, something to trick her into a sense of security. In her mind, the moment she told them what they wanted, she’d have a noose around her neck.

They started with gentle questions like where she was from and how she knew Mordred. The two of them revealed that they had been living together in a Druid camp under the same mentor for a stretch of long years. They had a close relationship but were separated when their camp was attacked. Unbeknownst to each other, they both ended up working for Morgana. Kara was all but disturbed to hear that Mordred had directly betrayed her and soon _he_ earned a hateful glare from her as well.

“What about the cargo carriage?” Arthur continued. “Were you involved?”

“Yes,” Kara responded.

“Did you kill my men?”

“Yes,” she said again. “I aided the Saxons in their quest.”

“Why?”

“Because it was my duty to milady.”

“You are safe within the walls of Camelot now. You no longer have to answer to my sister.”

“I never _had_ to!” Kara sneered. “I aid Morgana because she is right! Only she can bring magic back to Camelot! Only she shall have Camelot’s throne because she shall bring on Albion!”

“You are wrong.” Merlin voice rang out loud and strong. The intimidation and determination in his solid voice was like nothing Arthur had ever heard from him. Merlin stepped forward, making himself tower over Kara. “Arthur is the king that Camelot deserves and he will unite the land of Albion. Morgana is corrupt with hatred and greed. She wants revenge and power, nothing more. She does not seek _peace.”_

Kara looked up at Merlin, their eyes locked together. For a long while they sat there, no one in the room moving. Merlin read Kara’s eyes as she did his. Hers were filled with doubt. He could tell that she did not believe him to be Emrys, at least not the one of legends. His were swarming with countless emotions, almost unreadable. She could see sparks of hate, fear, sorrow, desperation but also flares of a determined soul, brave, proud, and trusting. He was a puzzle to her, as he was to many.

“You think your king is strong enough to bring peace to the lands?” Kara whispered, still digging her gaze into Merlin’s.

“I know it,” Merlin snarled.

“You’re wrong,” Kara replied, finally breaking eye contact and looking Merlin up and down. “You think you are Emrys and you _think_ that you can save whatever petty future that lies beneath your eyes but you are not and you can’t.” Her voice became louder and stronger as she spoke. “You think Camelot is ruled by a just king and yet the laws that still stand would have you executed. So, tell me, _Emrys,_ how you intend to draw equality from a land that is biased.” She looked back at Merlin, a glimmer of triumph in her eyes. Merlin studied her face, trying to find a line of deception or beguilement but he could find none. Kara thought her words true and it frightened Merlin. He righted himself and slowly stepped back from her, shaking slightly. Arthur looked to Merlin, expecting some sort of retaliation or retort, some exert from some prophecy. But there was none. Merlin remained silent and looked away from the Druid girl before him, incapable of holding his gaze any longer. He could not look at her, a Druid, one of the very people who foresaw his great destiny, doubting him, denying him.

And it was silent for much longer. Arthur looked to Kara and then to Merlin. It was almost as if they were on a battlefield and what he saw was, in fact, Merlin, defeated, unable to fight back. Then he looked to Mordred, head bowed. It seemed the young knight was indecisive, torn between the woman he loved and the king he trusted.

“That is all,” he finally spoke. Mordred lifted his head. He gave Kara one last glance before he left. Arthur had to clasp Merlin’s shoulder to bring him out of whatever sick thoughts Kara had planted in him. And when he saw Merlin’s eyes, blue seemingly appearing grey and empty, he was forced to look away. “Let’s go,” he hushed. And they left.

 

 

Merlin was watching Arthur as he paced back and forth before him, boots clicking on the floor and scraping the stone when he turned at either end of his cycle. Arthur paid no attention to Merlin as he continued his pacing, mind racing. Merlin’s loss of words worried him. The way he had stood stunned and dumbfounded by Kara’s accusation made his skin crawl. Arthur could see how her words affected Merlin directly and both of them, though they may refuse to believe it, knew that parts of what she had said were true. Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing the wrong thing by keeping the ban on magic. It was, of course, what Merlin wanted, at least for appearances. He knew that Merlin was cautious of the situation due to Morgana’s pending threat. He thought that, if Arthur relinquished the ban, Morgana would surly figure out who Emrys was in due time. However, another part of Arthur’s mind pondered how else things could turn out. He needed to keep Kara from reporting back to Morgana and he did not wish to execute the girl. Lifting the ban might encourage her to ally herself with Camelot. Perhaps, it would even keep Morgana at bay for a while longer. Arthur knew that Morgana thinks him to be the spitting image of his father, so it would only make sense for her to be surprised if he were to allow magic into the kingdom. After the ban would be lifted, Merlin could remain in secret, of course, if only to protect his identity. Yet, there was still the risk that bringing magic back could cause havoc and Merlin would never support the decision, not while the war still raged on.

Arthur stopped. Merlin sat up attentively to his sudden cease in motion. Arthur smiled down at Merlin; a sad smile. One that carved apology into his expression.

“What am I going to do, Merlin?” Arthur asked woefully.

Merlin’s eyes twinkled as he smiled back at him, encouragingly. “I believe you will do what is right. You’ve always done what’s best for Camelot, regardless of the consequences.”

 _Regardless of the consequences._ Arthur’s brow arched and he took a slow breath. He knew what had to be done. “Thank you,” Arthur replied solemnly, “Merlin.”

 

 

To Merlin’s dismay, he awoke to find food set at their table, prepared and served by, no doubt, delicate hands. The two of them silently agreed that it was Gwen’s doing. She must have brought them the food, or at least instructed a servant to. The pair of them grumbled on about how silly it was for a servant to serve a servant.

“Well it can’t be so strange compared to a king dinning with one,” Merlin retorted.

“I’ll have you know that Guinevere—“

“Gwen isn’t a servant anymore,” Merlin objected. “She doesn’t count.”

“But she was,” Arthur argued.

Merlin rolled his eyes and, without either of them coming up with a proper retort, they fell into a glum silence. It drove Arthur mad. He could tell the Merlin was still bothered by what Kara had said to him the day before. Arthur was eager for the time soon to come, when all of this was resolved. Needing something to fill the deathly silence, he asked, “What’s taking Gaius so long with those symbols?”

“He and Geoffrey are searching through the old archives,” Merlin explained. “It takes time, Arthur, especially when half the material needs to be translated from runes.”

They fell straight back into silence.

“Well,” Arthur huffed as he pushed off the table to stand, “come on.”

“What?” Merlin questioned as Arthur stood by the changing screen.

“I’ve arranged a council session at noon,” Arthur replied, “I can’t very well wear _this.”_ He gestured to his casual attire.

“When did you do that?” Merlin asked as he jumped up to ready his king.

“Before you woke,” Arthur elaborated as he was coated in chainmail and armor, “There was a servant setting the table and I ordered him to inform the knights and the council,” he paused, “and to never bring food to these chambers again. Though, I’m sure Gwen will just send another one.”

“What do you need a council session for?” Merlin inquired while his hands tugged Arthur’s belt as tight as it would stretch around his waist.

Arthur winced. “Watch it Merlin,” he growled. The belt had caused his chainmail to pinch. 

“Sorry,” Merlin murmured. He fastened the belt before draping the ceremonial red cloak over his master’s shoulders.

 

 

 

Without ever receiving the explanation that he yearned for, Merlin was dragged to the council chambers, still curious and dumbed. He took his appropriate station behind the throne and watched as the council members waited attentively. Guinevere took her seat beside Arthur, a puzzled look on her face. Merlin thought that to be good. He took comfort in the fact that he was not the only one blind to what was happening. However, it also made him wary of Arthur’s intentions. It was unlike the king to keep secrets and, when he did, the outcome was almost always terrible.

Arthur waited for the rumbling confusion that erupted from the crowd below him to die down before he stood. The action nearly silenced them all. “I think I’m right to assume that you are all wondering why I’ve called for a council session so suddenly,” he announced, the expected hush of agreement echoing back to him. “In the likes of recent events, I’ve decided that there are several essential changes that we must make in Camelot’s laws.”

The whispers grew to a low roar as people questioned whether others around them knew of these changes. The concern that filled the room was violent and, behind him, Merlin’s stomach dropped.

“I assure you,” Arthur said, loudly so that he might overpower the raging voices that challenged him, “that these changes will be an improvement on our kingdom, help us stride towards the equality we crave.” He took a step forward and stood up straight and proper, like a true king. The voices faded away slowly. “I have taken every possible factor into consideration whilst making this decision. That being said,” he stated, sounding official, “from this day forth, the ban on sorcery is lifted.”

The council combusted into a babbling clamor of commotion. Arthur swallowed, painfully aware of the many things that may now be at stake. He restrained himself from looking back at Merlin. He didn’t know how much attention was being paid to him and was wary of someone noticing his worried glance.

Unbeknownst to him, Merlin was shaking. His eyes were wide at they darted around the room at the wave of people that were arguing, protesting, and outright demanding a reconsideration. He kept stealing looks at Arthur, willing him to turn around and say it was just some sick joke. Merlin couldn’t understand his own mind. This was all he ever wanted. And yet, his heart was racing so fast he feared it would burst from his breast. He looked at all the angered faces below him. He could see councilmen, knights, and nobles all glowering at the king and shouting together at the absurdity. He saw Gaius, stood next to Geoffrey, coating Merlin with a worrisome look. The poor records keep just seemed lost and confused, maybe even scared. Merlin could see a few women in the back of the room bickering. A few servants had begun to cry out desperately at the news. Merlin couldn’t stand still. His head just kept spinning and whipping around to look at all the devastated faces. Everyone was angry and, though they did not know it, they were angry with him.

“What ‘recent events’?” someone screamed at Arthur.

“Yeah!” another called out. “What would cause for such drastic measures?”

Arthur froze. What could he say? He could not blame it on the Druid girl. It would be ridiculous to lift such an influential ban for such a cause. He would never be able to reveal that it was actually _Merlin_ who inspired this decision. It would put him in danger. While his mind spun over ideas, lies, and twisted truths, and answer crept into his head. “An ally!” Arthur answered. “An ally within Camelot had revealed himself. He is a sorcerer and has been protecting this kingdom from harm for years. In many ways, he has saved our lives, _your_ lives. He has performed countless selfless deeds, proving himself more than worthy of recognition. However, he wishes to remain anonymous, for his own safety. So, the least I am able to do to repay him is to lift the ban on his people.”

“That is just one person!” a woman cried.

“One man should not convince an entire nation to change its ways, sire!” a knight protested.

“This man has proven that magic is not a force of evil and I believe with every fiber of my being that what he says is true,” Arthur challenged. “Magic is but a tool. And if one chooses to use it for evil than it is the wielder to blame, not the weapon.”

Merlin could hardly be bothered to be touched by Arthur’s words. He was too busy turning stone white and loosing himself in the panic that had overridden him.

“Who is this man?” a nobleman demanded.

“What?” Arthur stammered.

“This ally,” he restated, “who is he?”

“As I said,” Arthur confirmed, “he does not wish to be known.”

“A name!” someone shouted. “A name!”

“I cannot divulge him!” Arthur continued. “I have given my word!”

“Tell us who he is!”

“I cannot!”

“What if he’s enchanted you?”

“No!”

“Give us a name!”

“I won’t!”

“Why is he hiding?”

“It is not my place to say!”

“You’re lying!”

“No!”

“The king is enchanted!”

“No!”

“The sorcerer has enchanted the king!”

“No, I’m not—“

“King Arthur is under the spell of an evil sorcerer!”

“No!” Arthur’s voice crackled through the hall, practically rattling the pillars around them. He did not have time to come up with a solution. He did not have the mind to sort out the situation. He couldn’t think. But he had to say _something._ “His name is Emrys!”

Instantly there was a detonation of violent bantering in the hall. Some people demanded with all their might that the sorcerer come forward or show himself. Others gasped with recognition at the legendary name. But most people just started yelling; yelling absurdities about how weak Camelot was and how corrupted the king had become. It made Merlin’s head spin. It seemed like everyone was jumping out at him, blaming him for every wrong that had ever been done. He shook with the irrational guilty feeling that, somehow, it was all his fault. His heart leapt out from his mouth and his stomach tied itself in knots. The voices vibrated around him, causing his head to throb. Too much was happening. Everyone knew.

While Arthur struggled in vain to shout over the panicked, enraged voices, a loud thud sounded off behind him and an audible _slap!_ hushed some of the booming voices. Arthur spun around and was immediately alarmed by the sight of his manservant, motionless on the floor.

Merlin had fainted. 


	3. Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur find out more information on where they might be able to find their sorcerer.

Watching the slow rise and fall of Merlin’s chest, Arthur mouthed his knuckle in worry. Gaius stood opposite him, too looking down on his past ward. It was nothing but a faint, a simple passing out, but Arthur couldn’t help not to acknowledge the sickening knot of dread that rested in his stomach. He didn’t want to know what Merlin thought of his decision, in fear that he would be repulsed, and yet he yearned for his friend’s opinion.

Wanting to break the deadly silence and distract his mind from such thoughts, Arthur turned to his physician. “What news on the symbols Merlin drew out for you?”

The silence lingered a moment longer as Gaius drew himself from his own thoughts. “One of the symbols,” he replied, “it’s a name.”

“A name,” Arthur echoed back to him, before falling back into his memories.

 

 

Arthur was instantly by Merlin’s side the moment he fell. He was relieved to see that his servant’s bones were all intact, the slap he had heard being that of his flesh smacking against the stone. After Gaius was able to push through the crowd and informed the king that Merlin should be moved to his chambers, Arthur ordered to court to leave. Fearful of the wrath of their king, the people left and Arthur carried Merlin to the physician’s courters. There, Gaius had pulled out the patient’s bed and allowed Arthur to lay Merlin to rest.

 

 

The dreadful silence stretched on into noon and Merlin still had not woken to break it. Arthur willed him to wake. He wanted to know his mind. He wanted to see whatever look that would be on Merlin’s face and have it be over with, whether it be hurt, betrayed, relieved, joyous, or even scared. He didn’t care. He just wanted it to be in the past. Eventually, Merlin’s absence was overwhelming and had to be ended.

“Wake him,” Arthur demanded in a monotone voice.

Gaius looked at him questioningly. Arthur merely gestured with his hand for Gaius to get on with it and the physician procured a bottle from his shelf. He removed the lid and let the puff of smoke seep out and around Merlin’s nose. The boy sputtered and turned his head away with a groan.

Arthur stepped forward in anticipation. But then, he traced back in fret.

Merlin opened his eyes, furrowed brow shadowing whatever emotion might be swimming in the dark pools below. He sat up and looked around. His features softened as the memories seemed to flutter back to him.

He looked at Arthur. But that was all he did. There was no emotion his gaze. He just stared at him, as if he were frozen or just didn’t know what to think. Arthur couldn’t fathom what it meant. His arms dropped to his sides the moment their eyes met and he stood stiff.

Arthur held his stare for as long as he could handle before he just _had_ to know what was happening inside Merlin’s mind. So he hesitantly addressed him, “Merlin.”

The moment his name was spoken with such pure emotion, Merlin’s eyes crinkled ever so slightly and he sniffed. He took a deep breath before he lost any hold he had on his own feelings. They gradually began to leak onto his face, his lip curving and curling into something between a smile and a sob. His eyes glazed over and his brow was brought together in sorrow and yet his eyes were bright, sparkling even.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. I . . .”

Merlin shook his head as he let his chin rest on his chest. His shoulders arched forward and bobbed with each heave of sorrow. Arthur knelt down before him and placed a hand on his friend’s arm. “Merlin,” he pleaded again, wanting more than anything for some sort of readable response.

Arthur looked at Merlin, his silent sobbing having come to a gradual end. He grasped Arthur’s arm in return and smiled at him. “Thank you,” Merlin hushed. And then it was revealed to Arthur that his sobs were, in fact, not sobs, but a tearful laughter. Merlin resumed his hysteria Arthur looked up at Merlin in wonder before letting out a short laugh of his own. 

 

 

“So you’re sure you’re okay with it?” Arthur asked yet again.

Merlin smiled. “Yes,” he exasperated.

“You fainted,” Arthur reminded him.

“I’m aware of that,” Merlin retorted.

“You were that excited, huh?” Arthur questioned, unbelievingly.

“Well,” Merlin added, “no.”

Arthur’s brow rose.

“I didn’t know what to think at first,” Merlin recalled. “Now that I think about it, I think I was mostly scared. Nothing really felt like it was really happening.”

“Are you scared?” Arthur said, seriousness creeping back into his manor.

Merlin stopped. He looked down at the broth Gaius had placed in front of them. He noted that he had eaten a lot, strangely hungry after having been unconscious. He looked over at Arthur’s. He hadn’t taken a single bite. He merely kept stirring the spoon around mindlessly, probably rather repulsed by the peasantry food. Then, Merlin wondered why he was thinking about their consumption of broth when he _should_ be answering the king’s question. To be fair, Merlin didn’t want to give his answer. After briefly considering telling Arthur that he should eat or maybe making a joke about his fat, Merlin swallowed, looked Arthur in the eye, and answered. “Yes.”

Arthur looked down at his spoon and lifted it up, watching as the broth slumped off of it and back into the bowl. As he thought over the many ways he could answer such a response, he looked back at his servant and noticed that he too was fiddling with his utensils. Somehow, that inspired his answer. “So am I.”

Merlin looked up to Arthur, slightly surprised. He studied his master’s face as he slowly put on a smile. Merlin judged it for a moment before returning the gesture. It would be a long time before either of them was pulled from their solemn, yet warm feeling.

 

 

Then came the time to address the matter regarding the sorceress. Gaius collected their dishes, frowning at Arthur’s untouched bowl, and sat beside Merlin so that they may discuss the issue at hand.

“A name?” Merlin questioned. “Is there any record of it? Might we be able to track it back to the Druids?”

Arthur pepped up. “Yes! Is there any way that we could use it to find out what camp she is a part of?”

“Sadly not,” Gaius said. “I’m afraid the name is not her own, but the name of a Druid leader that has long been dead.”

“Who was it?” Merlin inquired.

“Iseldir,” Gaius responded.

“He’s dead?” Merlin questioned, shocked.

“Yes,” Gaius answered, “he is, but not the one you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Iseldir you know is, in fact, a second, named after his father,” Gaius elaborated.

“So she must be a part of his camp, no?” Arthur asked.

“I’m afraid not. Iseldir’s camp is nothing like his father’s.”

“How so?”

“His father, like many Druids, was a man of peace. However, he was angered by Uther’s war against magic and thought that force must be used against him. The Iseldir you know thought otherwise. He proved true to the Druid beliefs of passive aggression. Sadly, He could not make his father see sense, nor stop him from leading an attack on Uther’s men. He died in battle. Iseldir took the remaining, faithful Druids under his own care to carry on the original Druid teachings.”

“So why would the sorceress not reign from there?” Arthur inquired.

“I fear that a small group of his father’s men survived and carried on with their war on Uther,” Gaius continued. “I think it’s only right to assume that they have assaulted your father in the past on individual attempts. Her markings are under their name, but they are of low ranks. She can’t have been with these men for long.”

“So,” Merlin gathered, “she must have joined with them after Alator was killed.”

Gaius sighed. “I’m afraid so.”

“Well I guess that’s a start,” Arthur huffed awkwardly.

“Yes,” Merlin said, “but we still need to deal to deal with the Druid girl.”

“Right,” Arthur said glumly.

 

 

“I don’t know why you bothered coming back!” Kara laughed at them.

Arthur hated the girl, he truly did. However, he couldn’t help but be relieved that Merlin was no longer shying away from her. Only, now he appeared terrifyingly inflamed with rage at the sight of her, and Arthur would be lying if he had said that the way he looked at her wasn’t frightening.

“Because we have news for you that may inspire a change of heart,” Arthur replied calmly.

“Oh?” Kara said. “And what could that possibly be?”

Arthur took a step in front of Merlin and squared himself in front of her. He looked down at the girl, a slim smile on his face, proud to announce the information he was about to reveal. “The ban on magic has been lifted.”

 A small gasp sucked in through Kara’s lips. Merlin’s eyes flickered over to the back of Arthur’s head for a brief moment before resting back on Kara’s shocked, gaping expression.

“You’re lying,” she mustered.

“No,” Arthur responded.

“It’s a trick!” she accused. “You wouldn’t do that! You’re trying to deceive me!”

“No,” Arthur repeated.

“But,” she stammered, “why would you allow magic into Camelot? You’re a _Pendragon!”_

“Because sorcerers have the right to exist just as any other man,” Arthur responded. “It is not a crime to use sorcery any more than it is to use a sword. And I believe that.”

“No,” the girl gasped. “No, you’re just doing this so that I’ll side with you! It won’t work! I don’t buy your little charade for a second!”

“You really think that I would jeopardize my kingdom just for the sake of one girl?” Arthur teased. “You had little to do with this. It was Merlin who showed me the good in magic and he is to credit for my decision and he alone.”

Merlin’s eyes lingered on Arthur for a moment before they returned to Kara.

“You’re mad,” Kara breathed.

“Possibly,” Arthur shrugged. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the new law will go into action by the next half moon. Six days, I think that is.” He looked to Merlin, who nodded in confirmation. Arthur had had them stop by the palace library before attending to Kara. He spoke to Geoffrey about making everything official and instated. He did so in the privacy of the library rather than calling him to council. The last thing Arthur wanted was another uproar. The records keep was dutifully eager to grant the king’s wishes and ensured it would be done by the promised time.

“It still doesn’t change anything!” Kara cried. “I will not forfeit my loyalty to Morgana because of this petty show you’ve put on!”

“I assure you, this is no show,” Arthur stated. “The law will be taken diligently and the only sorcerers dying by my hand will be the ones who commit a right wise crime.”

Kara remained silent. Her confidence seemed to have slipped away and it was easy to tell that she was not ecstatic about it. The room was silent for a long time and Merlin had yet to speak. The girl still unnerved him and he didn’t dare work his tongue in fear that he may lose his grip.

“Anything you’d like to add, Merlin?” Arthur broke the silence.

Merlin paused, almost considering trying to make another declaration of Arthur’s importance for the sake of Albion, but decided against it. “No.”

“We’ll leave you to your thought, then.” Arthur sported a triumphant smile and practically threw it in Kara’s face. “In seven days’ time, you will be evaluated before the court and, _if_ you choose to repent your crimes and succumb to Camelot’s loyalty, you will not be punished.”

The king spun on his heel, feeling extraordinarily confident, and left, Merlin clambering behind.

 

 

The following day, Arthur and Merlin set out on their own to seek out Iseldir. He was their best shot at finding what was left of his father’s followers. He was the closest connection that they knew of. Gaius had spoken around and poked at his connections to see if he could get wind of where the Druids were as of late. Whomever Gaius had _connections_ with was a mystery to Merlin and Arthur both. Merlin assumed it was mostly Geoffrey, he being a walking tome of endless information. But he wondered how someone like him could possibly have so much information on the outside world when he was always cooped up in his studies. Perhaps, Merlin thought, the Druids had cycles that they went through. Maybe they camped in certain places during different parts of the year. The information they had been given on their location _had_ been fairly vague, so it would make sense that it could be something of that sort. The Druids may have revered Merlin but he was still constantly puzzled and bewildered by their ways from time to time. Maybe he would see if Arthur would grant a visit with them, when this was all over. That way, perhaps, he could be better educated in Druidism and their strange, spiritual way of life.

The day had been long and tiring. It turned into somewhat of a hunting trip halfway through, Arthur having noticed that they probably wouldn’t find the blasted camp by nightfall and they’d be needing food. Merlin mentally slapped himself for not thinking to pack anything more than a few slices of bread and a bushel of apples. They had been munching on those supplies during midday as they rode, considering it lunch.

Arthur eventually rustled up a pheasant. It was on the small side so they were thankful that they were only feeding two mouths rather than a whole patrol of knights. The royal didn’t mention it though and feigned pride in his catch, somewhat gloating to strike up banter with his servant. He eventually ordered that they set up camp. They did so, on the edge of a clearing.

“I’ll go collect firewood,” Merlin announced once the bedrolls were laid out.

“Can’t you just conjure a fire using magic?” Arthur questioned.

“Yes,” Merlin said slyly, “But the fire needs something to _burn,_ now doesn’t it?”

Arthur huffed and left Merlin to his business. While the king arranged a few stones to keep the kindling in place, Merlin set out to find the driest of branches he could find. After rummaging through the woods for a good quarter hour, he stumbled back to Arthur and set up the wood he had collected.

 _“Forbearnan,”_ Merlin spelled and the flames burst to life. Arthur marveled, not at the fire, but at Merlin. He smiled up at him briefly before his eyes lingered down to the flames.

“Right, then!” Arthur pepped, rubbing his hands together and warming them by the fire. “Better get cooking Merlin!” he jested, patting his servant on the back before relaxing against a log.

Merlin glared at Arthur. He huffed before climbing back onto his feet and retrieving the pheasant from Arthur’s saddle. Later, when the bird had been roasted, they dined, if one can call it that anyway. Huddled over themselves, they ate, trying to be as close to the warm, welcoming fire as possible. The warmer half of autumn was coming to an end and they were definitely beginning to feel the difference as the bitter wind smacked against their backs.

There was no banter between them now. There was but the blissful silence. Neither knew why the other did not speak, nor did they know their own reasoning. Perhaps it was as simple as an admiration; an admiration of how well things had gone between them. They were truly two halves of a whole now, if they hadn’t already been before. Arthur understood Merlin and knew of all his pain and all his loss. He knew of his hardships and his sacrifices. But he also knew of his pride, his bravery, and how happy and humble he was to serve him. And, in truth, he was more than glad to have the lad by his side. Merlin, though he did not know all the ins and outs of his master, understood his king, as he always had. Arthur may have ventured into Merlin’s mind, but the servant was in no need of such witchery to see how Arthur was. He had always been able to understand Arthur and had always been there to help him in his times of need in any way he could. Merlin was merely sounder with him, resting in the comfort that his counterpart now could look at him with the same recognition that he’s offered for so many years, complete and utter understanding.

It was to these thoughts that the pair of them drifted off soundly into a sleep like no other. One would think that a night on the hard, wet ground would be displeasing, but it was not. The other’s presence was all the comfort that was needed and, when they were in range, it felt as though they were back at home, sleeping in their own bed.

 

 

Mordred was not a knight known for rebellious behavior. Thus, it would be surprising were he to go against the king’s orders. However, as he found himself creeping towards the interrogation chambers, the knight assured himself that Arthur, in fact, never prohibited him from seeing his childhood friend.

He turned the key and let himself in, finding Kara in a light sleep by the fire. It had died down over the course of the day, but the coals were still hot and gave off a much appreciated heat to part of the room.

The knight called out Kara’s name in a whisper as he closed the door and she stirred from her slumber to meet him.

“Mordred!” she cried, joyfully, sitting up off the floor and sparing him a smile. But the grin quickly faded. Instead, it was replaced by a scowl. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” he said hopefully. “Merlin and the king have left.”

“Left?” she questioned. “For what?”

“Nothing,” Mordred shrugged. “That’s not important.”

“But it is,” Kara rejected. “Why would the king leave just after lifting such an influential ban? Surely the townspeople are causing havoc!” The way she said it made the knight cringe. It were as if there was excitement lying behind her concern.

“The queen is more than able to manage the court in Arthur’s leave,” Mordred replied. “Besides, they left upon receiving dire information regarding their quest.”

“Quest?” Kara perked. “What quest?”

“To cure their ailment,” Mordred responded.

“Of what sort?”

“It is complicated, Kara,” Mordred hesitated, “and I fear it is not my place to say.”

“Mordred,” the girl huffed, sliding her arms down the knight’s arm until she reached his hands, pulling him down to kneel next to her place on the floor, “we are Druids. As you well know, I practiced healing for a good four years with Cerdan. Perhaps I can come up with a cure to their sickness!” Kara was deceitful, even to her loved ones.

Mordred sighed. “It is no ordinary illness, Kara. We do not even know if it has a name.” Mordred paused, looking back at his old companion. “Wait,” he continued. “You do not like the king. Why would you aid him?”

Kara looked away, feigning shame. “I know,” she murmured. “But perhaps this show that he’s put on has . . . altered my opinion of him. After all, he did spare my life; not something the previous king would have done.”

“Are you saying that you succumb to Arthur’s request?” Mordred questioned, filled with hope. “You are going to repent your crimes?”

Another sigh escaped her lips. “I do not know what to do Mordred. Whilst I’m in here I feel as though this is all a trick! You must understand. I do not trust this king of yours.” She looked at him, putting on an indecisive expression, despite her mind having already been set on what she would do with this new information.

“Once you repent you will be released!” Mordred encouraged. “And you can stay here, in Camelot!”

“But I am not even sure that I trust _you,_ Mordred!” Kara exasperated desperately. “You’ve gone and made yourself into a bloody pawn! How can I trust you when you are keeping things from me? How am I to know that you are not just as deceitful as them?”

Mordred’s eyes flickered about, studying her face. He wasn’t sure how she was to be interpreted, but the eager look in her eyes set him off. He could not resist someone so dear to him.

“I will tell you everything,” Mordred gave in. “I will keep no secrets from you. I never would.”

“Then tell me,” she pleaded. “Tell me where the king has gone.”

Mordred bit his lips, hesitantly preparing to divulge the information. “I am not certain of their destination. However, I do know that they seek out someone who may hold the key to their cure.”

“For what illness?”

“Again, I know not. But, ever since the king and his servant returned from their pursuit on an evil sorceress, they have not been able to leave the other’s side.”

“What do you mean by that?” Kara questioned. “Are they bound?”

“No,” Mordred huffed. “They have the capability to wander from each other, but, when they are apart, a great pain plagues them.”

“Strange,” Kara responded. “I’ve never heard of such a thing happening before.”

Mordred shook his head. “And neither have I.”

An unsettling silence was engaged between them. It dragged on for a long moment before Kara cleared her throat. “You should leave,” she offered. “You look tired.”

Mordred climbed to his feet. “That I am.” He smiled down at his old love, a gleam in his eyes. “Goodnight.”

Kara nodded back to him. “Goodnight.”

With that, Mordred left and Kara turned back to the fire. She couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. The information Mordred had given, she was grateful for. She promised herself to put it to good use. Though, many think, good looks different behind everyone’s eyes. 

 

 

Morning came and Merlin groaned as he stretched out his nightly aches. He looked over at the king to find him still fast asleep, his head half buried in the crook of his elbow. The servant stood and trudged over to him, sniffling away at his stuffy nose.

Merlin smiled at his own brilliance when he came upon Arthur and lightly kicked him in the side. The king spastically wriggled away from the warlock, his groggy mind going mad with thoughts of an attack.

 _“Merlin!”_ Arthur moaned once he’d come to his senses. “What are you doing?”

“It’s morning you lazy, pompous prat!” Merlin replied, nudging him once more.

“Stop that!” Arthur growled. He gathered himself and staggered to his feet, wiping his hands down his face, trying to rub away the sleep. “How much farther have we to go?”

“I don’t know!” Merlin said. “I’m not the one sleeping on the map!”

Arthur looked down, noticing that the bag he had used as a pillow was, in fact, the one containing their mappings of the kingdom. He crouched down and picked up the satchel. After rummaging through it, he pulled out the map and laid it out on the ground. Merlin stood behind him, looking over his shoulder.

“Oh,” the king yawned, “we’re about half a day’s ride from where the Druids ought to be.”

“If that’s even where they are,” Merlin huffed, glaring down at the markings on the parchment.

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur complained. “It’s not like you’re any help at tracking. Can’t you just call out to one of them using your magic, or are you useless at that too?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Despite their _infatuation_ with me, I’m not a Druid. I could try contacting them, but I doubt it’ll work this far away. I’m sure Iseldir will contact me once we’re close, though. He always seems to, anyways.”

“I don’t understand why they’re so loyal to you,” Arthur teased.

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” Arthur grunted as he got to his feet. “Now let’s go.”

They packed their things and mounted their steeds, headed off towards the far west, near the edge of the Darkling woods. Their bantering went on and on, uninterrupted for some time, before they could see the snowy tops of the White Mountains peeking over the trees and knew that they were nearing their destination.

“The woods shouldn’t go on for much longer in that direction,” Arthur observed, “considering we can see the mountains. Any funny feelings of yours kicking up yet?” 

“No,” Merlin shook his head. “But I can try something.”

The sorcerer’s eyes burned gold. However, unlike previous demonstrations of magic that Arthur had witnessed, they remained so for a few prolonged seconds.  A shot of worry worked its way into Arthur before it subsided at the sight of Merlin’s eyes reverting back to blue. The servant took a couple of slow breaths before looking back at his master.

“There’s a camp,” Merlin informed, “a few leagues north.” He nodded in the direction that he had spotted the site. “But it’s deserted. I think they’ve moved on from there.”

Arthur nodded. “We’ll check up on it,” he said, “see if we can tell where they were headed.”

It didn’t take long for them to reach the clearing. The fire had run cold but, by the state of the place, they could not have left more than a day or two prior.

Arthur dismounted and surveyed the perimeter of the camp for tracks to see which way they had been headed. “Most of the tracks seem to draw a path that way.” He pointed to the northwest.

Merlin sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was ride for another painfully long day. His back ached and his buttocks seemed to have tied their muscles into knots. However, before he could come up with an excuse to delay their trip, a familiar voice reached out to him. _“Emrys,”_ it calls, _“you seek my aid.”_

 _“Yes,”_ Merlin confirms.

 _“My company can be found within a cave marked by a large, pointed stone at its mouth,”_ Iseldir informs him, _“But be wary, Emrys. It is a sacred place and to bring mortal weapons would be to bring a mortal curse.”_

 _“I will mind the warning. Thank you. We shall reach you shortly,”_ Merlin assures.

“Are you listening to me, _Merlin?”_ Arthur growls as he mounts his mare.

The servant twists his head to look at Arthur, having been oblivious to his ramblings while being distracted by the Druid’s call.

“We keep heading north,” the king reinstated.

“No,” Merlin interjected. “No, Arthur they’re that way.” Merlin gestured towards the west.

Arthur’s eyes widened. “You spoke to them?”

“To him,” Merlin corrected, “yes. They’re in a cave marked by a pillar. It’s that way.”

Arthur heaved a heavy breath before nodding. “Westward it is then.”

 

 

Back in Camelot, Gwen was buried beneath a massive heap of frantic questions and concerns from the people. Many wished to know where the king had gone in his sudden leave of absence, others pondered who the sorcerer was that Arthur had named during his declaration of peace with magic. To such questions, Gwen replied to the best of her knowledge, telling her subjects that the king and his servant had left to pursue a possible cure to their predicament and that she herself was unaware as to who the mysterious magician in Arthur’s life was.

It did give her much time to think, being left alone and in charge of the castle. Despite the insistent council members and knights that pestered her throughout the day, trying to pry out every bit of knowledge that they could get from the queen, she found herself with a lot of free time. After the first day, she was so entirely exhausted from all the accusations from the court that she refused to answer any more questions the following day. So, after fulfilling her royal duties, she enjoyed a peaceful lunch on her own, which let her suppressed thoughts hang dangerously out in the openness of her mind.

“Is he within the city?” hollered one of the stressed villagers that had approached the lady in court. “I will not have my family live under the threat of magic! Is he in the city?”

Gwen pondered this from her chambers now. _Was_ he in the city? And, if he was, how long had he been there? How long has this mysterious magician been influencing Arthur’s life?

“You know him!” a member of the court had accused. “You must! You must know him! You are the queen! Who is he?”

Another question she could not answer crept into her mind. Did she know him? How many times has this sorcerer passed her by on the streets of Camelot? How many times has she met his eyes? How many times had she spoken to him? It all unnerved her greatly, that her own husband could be so heavily governed by such an ascendant without her knowledge.

Then something struck her. What if it had been beyond the king’s knowledge as well? The declaration of equality was sudden enough, but the reveal of a hidden magical ally was even more spastic. Perhaps the presence of such a figure was just as recently revealed to him as it were to the whole of Camelot, thus encouraging his decision to lift the ban.

Gwen’s mind spun with all the seemingly ludicrous ideas that flew through her thoughts. But she was right. She must be. It all made sense in that way. The only remaining question was _who?_ Who was Emrys? Who would she find out to be the dark stranger that manipulated her husband’s thoughts? Perhaps manipulated was the wrong word. However, the more she turned it over in her mind the more it seemed completely impossible to determine. She needed a second opinion. She needed to speak with someone else who was close to Arthur who might have some clue as to who the sorcerer was.

Merlin was the first person to pop into her head, but speaking with him on the matter would be impossible, what with his and Arthur’s binding. There would be no way to seek his audience without the king accompanying him.

She thought about the knights but decided against it. Though they were loyal to her, they would not hesitate to keep a promised secret that they may share with Arthur. So, she dare not risk tempting their trust in her.

Gaius. Gaius was the only person she could rationally think of. Arthur may not have been incredibly close with the man, but he had looked over Arthur since he was a boy, so there was no doubt a connection between them. Plus, he knew Merlin more than anybody, so he may also have some insight as to what the servant observed from day to day whilst being at Arthur’s side.

A knock on the door and Gaius called out a brief reply for Gwen to enter. She did and, upon seeing the physician crouched over his tomes, greeted him. “Hello Gaius.”

“Gwen,” Gaius stammered, not having expected her company. He rose to his feet and waded across the room. He looked her up and down and, having found nothing wrong with her, asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she assured. “I . . . I was hoping I could speak with you . . . about-about Arthur.”

Gaius’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. “Is something troubling you?”

Gwen looked down at where her fingers were wringing out her dress in a fret of nerves. “The sorcerer he speaks of,” she hesitated, “Emrys, do you know him?”

Gaius stiffened. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I feel like we do,” she replied. “I feel as though he’s someone important. It’s obvious that, whoever he is, Arthur finds great trust in him, if he was to make such a huge decision on his behalf.”

Gaius hummed in agreement, though he still did not answer.

“I just have to know, Gaius,” Gwen sighed. “Do you know him? Do _I_ know him? Has he been in Camelot all this time?”

The old man looked away. “I’m afraid, milady, that I have been sworn to secrecy on the matter.”

“I don’t need to know his name, Gaius!” Gwen cried. “Please! I just want to know if I know him!”

The physician let out a long, exhausted breath. His weary aged eyes looking up at the young girl before him, he answered, “Yes, you do know him.”

“For how long?” she wondered.

“Many years, I dare say,” Gaius supplied. “And he is nothing but a friend to you and the king alike.”

Gwen let out a huff of relief. “Thank you, Gaius,” she said. It put her racing mind to rest, knowing that her suspicions were entirely rational.

“And please,” Gaius added, “do not go searching him out. He will reveal himself to you on his own time, when he is ready. It could be extraordinarily stressful for him. So, please, Gwen, let him come to you.”

With a curt nod, Gwen promised.

 

 

Trotting along, Merlin began to find the stillness of their surroundings irritating. He had managed to keep up the clatter for most of their journey, but even _he_ ran out of things to say after so long. He almost wished that Gwaine had accompanied them. Almost.

It was a relief to him when the point of a large white stone could be seen in the distance, poking out from the trees. “There!” Merlin called, and Arthur’s head followed his gestured.

The pair dismounted and tied up their horses. However, before Arthur could approach the tall, white pillar before them, Merlin stopped him.

“Arthur,” he warned, “this place is sacred.” His eyes lingered on the sight of Arthur’s scabbard.

Arthur followed his gaze and, upon understanding, undid its attachment to his belt and set it with his packs on the saddle.

Venturing inside, Merlin thought it odd that it was so dark. Surely, if the Druids had made camp here, they would have lit a fire or some torches. Druid camps were usually full of life when the company was not peacefully meditating. Alas, Merlin’s concerns were comforted at they turned down a winding corner to find a spectacular light show, the walls seemingly painted bright gold by the beaming torches.

“Emrys,” a voice called, and both Merlin and Arthur turned to meet a familiar face.

“You’re Iseldir,” Arthur stated.

“Indeed,” the Druid replied. “Come,” he beckoned, “what brings you here?”

“I think you already know,” Merlin offered as he followed behind him, eyes scanning the camp with awe. Each tent seemed to glow from inside, illuminating the place in a spectrum of colors.

The Druid smiled. “You have come in search for my father’s men,” he acknowledged. They came upon a rather large, green tent with druid patterns littering the hems. Iseldir lifted the tent flap and beckoned them inside.

They entered to find two cots, a small table, and a fire burning from what appeared to be a candelabra, save that there was nothing attaching it to the ceiling of the tent. It simply levitated in the center, above their heads. 

“I can direct you to them,” Iseldir continued, “but I insist that you rest for a day to regain your strength before seeking them out.”

“Why’s that?” Arthur inquired.

“I have much I wish to discuss with your protector,” the elder elaborated, nodding towards Merlin who seemed extremely conflicted. He looked, to Arthur, as if he wanted to shrink into himself and disappear from embarrassment but, at the same time, wished not to further humiliate himself in the audience of someone who thought so highly of him. “There are many things that he must know, now that you are aware of his talents.”

Arthur’s face portrayed confusion and the Druid smiled once more. “When you are readied,” he added, “a feast shall be held by the fire. Feel free to join us.” And, with that, he left.

Merlin and Arthur shared puzzled looks before shrugging off their confusion and settling in. Merlin helped Arthur out of his armor and relieved himself of his extra layers before the two of them met the druids by the flames in casual attire.

Both were handed massive dishes filled with luscious fruits that seemed to swell with their sweet juices. The bread was crisp and warm and the soup was like silk when it travelled down one’s throat. It was truly a meal to savor, for neither of them, even Arthur, had ever tasted such delicacies before. Arthur let a compliment past his lips, which was a real statement, considering how much the king loved meat and marrow. Despite there being no animal contributions to their meal, Arthur found it was the best he had ever had.

Arthur and Merlin enjoyed the chatter, songs, and games of the Druid’s around them, all cheerful and celebratory for unknown reasons. A young, hefty man sat down next to Arthur, a wide grin on his face as he clapped for one of his mates to participate in one of the many activities.

“What are the celebrations for?” Arthur asked him as he settled.

“Hmm?” the Druid grunted. “Oh! My king! You see, celebrations such as this are common! We are merely celebrating the earth and its wonders! But, tonight, we celebrate a superb revelation!”

“And what revelation is that?” Arthur pondered.

The man laughed. “Why, it’s you! Your knowing of Emrys’s powers! It has lifted a great weight from our shoulders!”

Arthur looked to Merlin, who simply shrugged with a nervous smile before returning his attention to his food.

“Well,” Arthur started, “I am honored, then, that you are celebrating our reconcilement.” The king bowed his head, which made the man laugh again.

Merlin made due to speak but, the moment he opened his mouth, a burst of laughter spilled out and he nearly spat soup into his master’s hair. He quickly covered his mouth in surprise as his eyes began to water. His shoulders heaving and bobbing in beat with his muffled giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur asked irritably as he noticed Merlin trying to suppress his outburst. Merlin shook his head, but the smile lines would not leave his face.

“That must have been Gilli,” the man suggested. “He loves pranks! He got me once; had me scratching for a week!”

“Gilli!” Merlin exclaimed amidst his fit of laughter. “He’s here?” he snickered.

“Gilli?” Arthur questioned. “Who’s . . . Oh.” Arthur stopped as a memory that was not his own sparked itself into his mind. Gilli was the boy who had fought Uther in the tournament all those years ago. Unbeknownst to all but Merlin, he had used magic and promised the servant that they would meet again. Arthur seemed to slip into a short daze as the memory flooded into him, but he was soon brought back to his senses by another whoop of laughter from his friend beside him.

Now there were tears rolling down Merlin’s cheeks as he struggled to stop the crowing of his voice. It was all in vain. Nothing could stop him from guffawing and sputtering everywhere, doubling over and splitting his sides.

“Merlin!” a voice called, and soon an odd looking fellow was crouching down beside the manservant, clapping him on the back. “I’m so glad you’ve found your way here, friend!”

“Wh-what are you – doing here – with the D-Druids?” Merlin choked out, chest still heaving with laughter, making it near impossible for him to speak.

“I took your advice!” the man cheered, admiring his handiwork. “I sought out the Druids and they taught me more about my magic. They taught me how to use it for good, like you wanted me to, and I think _this_ is _more_ than an honorable use for it!” He beamed. There was obviously far more light in the boy than there had been when he last saw Merlin, and the warlock was proud of that, though he couldn’t quite voice it at the moment.

“He’s made a lot of improvement since he’s been here,” praised the man. “And that ring of his sure is handy for his tricks!”

“It’s all right, Merlin,” Gilli sneered. “I only slipped a potion into your soup! It should wear off in two or three hours or so.”

Merlin bellowed as Gilli clapped his back again, laughter mingling with coughs. “Three h-hours!” he howled.

“Eh,” Gilli smiled. “It’s not that bad! At least you aren’t Robbin! He had a rat’s tail for about a whole fortnight!”

Merlin put his head in his hands as he continued to chortle uncontrollably. Arthur began to muse at his servant’s struggles, starting to chuckle as well, afraid for a moment that he too had been drugged.

It went on like this for some time; music playing and people cheering, Merlin struggling to keep his lungs in his chest. Soon his face was red and his attempts to suppress his laughter had stopped. Realizing that it was futile, he simply lost himself and ended up rolling around on the ground, clutching his side and snorting.

Arthur continuously teased and pestered Merlin for his outburst and even threatened to have Gilli make up another batch of “laugh juice”, as he called it. It was then that he approached the boy and complimented him on his “fine work”.

“Thank you,” he replied. “Though, I’m afraid laughter wasn’t the only thing I’ve plagued him with.”

“What do you mean by that?” Arthur questioned, slightly alarmed.

“Oh!” Gilli chuckled, “You’ll find out in the morning!”

Arthur scoffed. He couldn’t wait.


	4. Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is left winded by stunning new information of all sorts.

Merlin’s laughing fit lasted about two hours longer than Gilli had promised, to which he apologized and started rambling on with excuses, such as having accidentally used too much of the potion than was necessary. By the end of the night, Merlin had lost his voice and was wheezing more than laughing, curled into a fetal position on the ground.

Arthur had to aid his helpless servant back to their tent and assist him into bed. He was utterly exhausted and fell asleep faster than Arthur had ever seen a man before.

 

 

When the boy woke up the next morning, he found that Arthur had already risen and was pulling on his boots while sitting on the edge of the bed.

Merlin groaned and rolled off his side and onto his belly. “My sides hurt,” he moaned.

“If it makes it any better,” Arthur toyed, “Gilli was the one who brought breakfast.”

Merlin maneuvered his head so that he could peek over his shoulder at the table, which was lined with bread and cheese. Merlin groaned again and stuffed his face back into his pillow. He was in relative peace for a moment before Arthur launched the servant’s boot at his head.

“Ow!” Merlin sputtered. He held his head and sat up with alarm. “Ow . . .” he winced again, clutching his stomach.

“Get dressed,” Arthur ordered.

“I swear,” Merlin muttered, “I’m going to kill that kid next time I see him. I don’t think I ever want to laugh again.”

A small snort came from Arthur and Merlin’s head shot up. “What?” he questioned.

“Nothing,” Arthur responded, voice high pitched and obviously lying.

“What?” Merlin asked again.

“It’s, um . . .” Arthur stammered, “Your tongue.”

“My tongue?” Merlin echoed.

“It’s, uh,” Arthur hesitated, “it’s got a blueish . . . _tint_ to it.”

“Blue!” Merlin cried. He fell back on his bed and put his head in his hands. “That’s it,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna kill him.”

 

 

Merlin was a bit wobbly as he walked, slouched over even more than usual. He staggered behind Arthur as they made their way outside the tent, where Iseldir was waiting for them along with a few other Druids, Gilli included.

Merlin scowled at the boy while he clutched his side but all he got in return was a simple shrug. Arthur took the role of greeting Iseldir, Merlin’s voice having been purged from him. Whenever he spoke it sounded more like grunts and whines from a creature rather than the words of a man.

“Before we begin,” Iseldir announced in response to Arthur’s greeting, “I must have a conference with the two of you, concerning Merlin’s powers.”

“Before we begin what?” Arthur asked. He looked briefly to Merlin, but he seemed equally as bewildered.

“You will see,” the Druid claimed. “All will be explained if you come with me.”

Thus, the three of them broke off from the group and found themselves outside the cave, sitting cross legged before the large, stone pillar.

“Place your hands on the pillar,” Iseldir instructed.

Arthur and Merlin exchanged puzzled looks before they replicated the elder’s actions and pressed their palms against the cool, white stone. Arthur felt nothing, but Merlin immediately drew back from the stone with a small noise of shock escaping his lips. Arthur too drew his hands away from the rock, concerned with Merlin’s actions.

“What was that?” Merlin sputtered hoarsely.

“This stone,” said Iseldir, “is conductor of magic. It was placed here many years ago by a nameless man who sought world peace. However, he failed in his mission, as such a thing does not exist. Thus, the stone, not being able to grant his wishes, drained him of all his powers. Though his work did bring an end to many wars, no one can ever bring upon a true utopia. The stone did as much as it could to please him, up until his powers were spent.”

“And it still works?” Merlin questioned. “Why have you brought me to it?”

“You, Emrys,” the Druid addressed him, “are filled with such raw power. However, you have lived concealing it for so long that you have lost a full tact on your gifts, something you have not had since you were a child.”

“So Merlin has more power?” Arthur questioned in awe. He’d felt Merlin’s magic first hand while he journeyed through his thoughts. It was overwhelming. He couldn’t imagine a feeling more powerful than simply being Merlin. Though, he supposed, the boy was used to feeling that way and probably thought nothing of the strong, unwavering strength that constantly coursed through his veins.

“Indeed he does,” Iseldir confirmed. “He simply needs to allow the stone to clear the blockage that he has unconsciously formed in his magic. Only then can he use his powers to his full extent.”

“Well,” Merlin started, voice still weak and scratchy, “what if I don’t _want_ all that?”

Arthur scoffed, “Why wouldn’t you want that, Merlin!” he accused. “Why would anyone _not_ want that?”

Iseldir looked at the warlock expectantly.

“Because!” Merlin sputtered. “My magic is overwhelming sometimes as it is! What could I do if I had access to all that? How could I handle it?”

Arthur looked at Merlin, heart reaching out to him. He indeed had witnessed Merlin under stress at times when his powers caused him to have visions and hear voices. Suddenly, the king found that he was entirely against the idea of Merlin unlocking all of his power.

“But what you do not know, Emrys,” Iseldir started, “is that you have already unlocked these powers before, during times of great distress.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin questioned.

Arthur immediately thought of his friend’s battle against Nimueh and the way he had conjured the clouds and lightning to smite her.

“Think of times where you were on the verge of life and death. Think of the moments when all hope seemed lost and yet, somehow, you pulled through. Think of all the times that death has denied you.”

Merlin paused, looked to the ground in front of him, scanning his memories for such moments.

“Now I want you to really _remember_ how you felt during those times. What did you feel?”

Arthur looked between the two of them as he noticed a look of distress dawn on Merlin’s face. “I . . .” Merlin struggled, “I can’t remember. I don’t remember _feeling_ anything.”

“I do,” Arthur said suddenly. “I, uh, it felt strange.”

Merlin looked to his king, perplexed.

“Describe it,” Iseldir said.

“It was like,” Arthur tried, “like something burst inside . . . and then there was just a spark of energy, completely unadulterated. It was exhilarating.”

Merlin stared at Arthur. “I don’t . . .” He was at a loss for words.

“You’re magic,” Iseldir explained, “is so pure and so _ancient._ You are far older than your body, Emrys. Your soul has been a part of the earth since the beginning. You are magic itself. Though anyone may _try,_ no man can purge the world of the very energy that keeps it alive.”

“What are you saying?” Merlin said, voice shaking.

“What I am saying is that you, the very magic that created us all, personified, cannot be destroyed, for a world without magic would be no world at all. You cannot die.”

Silence plagued them then. The very trees around them seemed to hold their breath and the wind left them as though it were wary of them. Leaves did not rustle and the grass did not move, the only sound was that of Merlin’s breath, deep and frantic, overwhelmed.

“No,” Merlin stated plainly.

“It is true,” Iseldir refused.

Arthur looked at his friend wide eyed as they both seemed to relive Merlin’s greatest moments of fret. Though neither of them wished to believe it, it all made sense. It had not been Arthur’s journey to retrieve the antidote that had saved Merlin from the poison all those years ago, it was him, his magic. He had died, his heart stopped and breath stilled, and yet, he lived on. Nimueh had denied Merlin when he had offered her his life for Arthur’s. It was not because she wished to torment him, but because she _knew._ She would not have been able to take Merlin’s life in trade because his life would never run out. And the Cailleach, she too refused his sacrifice, all for the same reasons. It was then that they wondered how many times, when the dragon claimed to have healed the warlock from impossible casualties, that it was, in fact, his own powers that kept him alive.

Merlin swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, trying to regain himself. Arthur continued to stare at him, utterly bewildered by this revelation.

“Place your hands on the pillar,” Iseldir said calmly, motioning for Merlin to continue.

“No,” Merlin refused. “No, I don’t want to be . . . I can’t . . .”

“You have had this power within you since you were born,” the Druid tried to convince. “Accessing it now will change nothing about your future. You have always been immortal, Emrys. That is why we call you that.”

“Emrys?” Merlin questioned.

“The immortal one,” Iseldir clarified, nodding.

“But,” Merlin stammered, “what if . . . what if I don’t _want_ to be immortal?”

The elder shook his head. “There is no choice in it. You already are as such. Death can never claim you.”

“What about Arthur?” Merlin questioned, and the king found it odd that the subject had been altered to revolve around him.

“What of him?”

“He’s not . . .”

“No,” Iseldir answered. “He is mortal. However, your lasting life is essential to his success, as is accessing your full potential,” he added. “Now, place your hands on the pillar.”

“But,” Merlin protested, “what happens when he . . .? Will I never die?”

“No,” Iseldir said again. “Your age is an illusion, Emrys. It can bend to your will. In time, you will master that art as well.”

“He’ll be alone,” Arthur said suddenly, voice emotionless but expression raw with pity.

“Yes,” Iseldir confirmed, “he will. But not forever. In time you will be reunited.”

“What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?” Arthur yelled, standing up. “You’re nothing but misleading riddles and an avoidance of certain truths! Merlin needs to know what he’s getting himself into! Tell him! Tell us everything! We didn’t come here for this! So, if you’re going to continue wasting our time trying to convince him to touch a _bloody rock,_ then we’ll leave, with or without the information we came for!”

“Your majesty,” the Druid argued, “there are certain things that _cannot_ be revealed to you, for it would jeopardize the future of all Albion! It is absolutely necessary that Emrys—!”

“Stop calling him that!” Arthur spat. “His name is _Merlin_ and if you really find him so godlike than you ought to honor him by using it!”

“Arthur,” Merlin warned, reaching up and tugging at the king’s arm, urging him to sit back down.

Arthur stiffened, reluctant to move, but eventually complied, settling down next to his manservant.

“It is necessary that Emrys,” —Arthur bit his tongue— “unlocks his full potential in order to protect his and your own destiny,” Iseldir continued. “Now, if you will, please place your hands on the pillar.”

“What will the pillar do, exactly?” Merlin inquired, still uneasy.

“It will help clear away the blockage by sending a steady stream of magic through you,” Iseldir explained. “Though you have broken the barrier before, it has yet to completely dissipate. By getting rid of your mental block on your powers, you will have more control over your magic and some of the more difficult spells will come with ease. You will be better connected with the world around you and therefor have the capability to command it, communicate with it. This is what you were _made for,_ Emrys. It is all that you are meant to be.”

Merlin nodded. He slowly began to shift his position so that he was facing the stone more squarely on. He knew by Iseldir’s words that he could not change his fate and, if this was essential to Arthur’s destiny, than he would rather temp his own sanity than have Arthur fail.

“Merlin,” Arthur hummed, clearly letting his friend know that he was there for him, if he wanted to back out. Merlin nodded back to his friend, encouraging him to believe that he was willing to do as Iseldir said.

Taking a deep, shuttering breath to calm himself, Merlin gently placed his palms on the cold, pale stone and let his fingers splay out against it.

Immediately, the warlock flinched, the muscles in his arms tensing momentarily before he let them relax and truly tried to focus. Energy rushed into him, trickling up his arm like a cool breeze, making his hair stand on end.

“Concentrate,” Iseldir advised.

Merlin didn’t respond. It was as if his words were far away, too distant for him to understand them. But he could hear the anxiousness in his voice as it called to him, so he struggled to let the overwhelming energy course through him.

 _Pop!_ Merlin could _feel_ something give way within him, but it wasn’t painful. He felt something similar to a cold burn run through him in a rivulet of ease, like wetting his hot brow under cool water after a heated day. He could sense his muscles relaxing and he almost went limp there, sitting before a concerned Arthur. It was a feeling indescribable, like butterflies in one’s stomach, only the fluttering feeling spread throughout the whole body, like seeing a loved one after spending a long time away, like watching the sun set from a high place with a chilling breeze, or like melting into yourself after a hard day’s work.

Arthur watched, warily as Merlin merely sat there, eyes transfixed on the stone before him, unmoving. He was still and relaxed for a long while and he almost looked peaceful. However, to his dismay, Merlin, with a jerk, let out a small gasp and suddenly began shaking.

“Merlin?” Arthur fret, leaning in closer.

No answer was given. The boy’s eyes began to water as his body convulsed. Arms twitching away from the pillar, Merlin let out a short shout of shock, before he lied on his back and began thrashing around violently, small croaks and gurgles choking through his parted lips.

“Merlin!” Arthur called in horror as his servant began seizing about on the ground, eyes a flutter, half formed fists bashing into the soil, head whipping around uncontrollably.

Arthur, without hesitation, flung himself forward in an attempt to help the boy but was quickly pushed back by one of Merlin’s flailing legs hitting him square in the chest.

“What’s happening?” Arthur shouted at Iseldir as he climbed to his feet. “Stop him! Stop this! You didn’t say that this would happen! You never told him! Merlin never agreed to this!”

Iseldir only spared Arthur a glance before he looked back to Merlin. His eyes were rolling around wildly in his sockets and his lashes blinked and fluttered rapidly, gold irises peeking through with a vibrant glow.

Arthur fell back to his knees and got as close to Merlin as he could, putting himself between him and the harmful Druid. “What do I do?” Arthur cried. “Tell me how to make it stop!”

“You cannot,” Iseldir responded, monotonously. “The only thing you can do for him is let him finish the cycle. Interfere, and you may harm him.”

 _“You’re_ the one harming him!” Arthur barked back at him and, though he hated the man, followed his advice, leaning back a bit to give Merlin some space. All the while Arthur was biting at his lip and clenching his fists, Iseldir murmuring meaningless reassurances to him. Arthur ignored him and focused only on how Merlin’s fit slowly died down. His thrashing turned into minor twitches and his eyes settled for staring into space, half closed, still luminous. He didn’t make a sound as Arthur crouched down to lift him into a sitting position. His head cocked to the side and his limbs shuddered slightly. Arthur held Merlin up by the underarms, keeping him upright. Gradually, Merlin’s eyes slipped closed and the only remaining sign of his outburst was his ragged breathing.

Iseldir led Arthur back into the cave without a word. Arthur did not protest. He didn’t want to get himself caught up in more conflict while Merlin was invalid in his arms. When they arrived at their tent, Arthur eased Merlin into his cot and sat on the edge of his own. The Druid left them, only to return a few moments later with a small tonic.

“Have him drink this when he wakes,” Iseldir instructed. “It will help his magic settle more easily.”

Reluctantly, Arthur took it and nodded in conformity.

As the elder left, Gili wandered in, curiously asking what had happened and frequently apologizing for the extraneous spell he had put Merlin under the day before. Arthur waved him off and he respectfully left.

Merlin woke only a few moments later, but Arthur dubbed him not nearly aware enough to drink without swallowing his own tongue. He had blearily opened his bright, golden eyes and peered around the room as if everything around him was so interesting that it flabbergasted him. When Arthur had tried to speak to him, Merlin merely hummed tiredly and stretched out his hand, groping around at nothing. He seemed determined to find something to latch onto so Arthur held out his hand and Merlin clutched his sleeve in his fist before drifting away again.

It was a little over an hour before Merlin finally was able to comprehend anything. He’d rolled over onto his side and seemed to be more at peace, asleep rather than unconscious perhaps. When his eyes opened the next time, they were still the color of molten flames. He opened them slowly, as if his lashes weighted down his eyelids. His vision eventually focused and he blinked up at his king. “Arthur?” he whispered.

Arthur smiled at him, sadly. He looked down at where Merlin’s fingers were still curled around his sleeve. Merlin followed his gaze and let go, embarrassed.

“How do you feel?” Arthur asked as he helped Merlin sit up against his pillows.

Merlin sighed, looked around for a few moments and then said, “Fine.”

“Really, Merlin,” Arthur said sternly.

Merlin huffed before he complied with his wishes. “It feels . . .” Merlin paused, trying to survey his own perception of himself. “I can see a lot better,” he noted. He looked to the collar of Arthur’s shirt where he could see the stitching of each thread it was made of without so much as a squint. “I can hear better, smell better,” he wrinkled his nose, “feel things more vividly.” He fingered the blankets on his bed. Suddenly, all of these senses became overwhelming. He could hear every word and movement from outside, along with the steady beat of Arthur’s heart and his bated breath. The colors he saw jumped out at him violently. The stenches of the candelabra and wool of their clothes clouded his nose and he found out that his saliva tasted rather tangy. He could even feel his bones move inside of him as he shifted uncomfortably on the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut, urging the senses to go away, go back to normal, and they did, with ease. Merlin opened his eyes again with a sigh. “But I can also reject the senses if I want to,” he supplied, “. . . if they become too much.”

Arthur frowned. “Yes, Merlin,” he said, “but how do you _feel?”_

Merlin blinked at him, a bit confused. Then he sagged a bit, relaxing into his own skin. “It feels . . .” he paused again, trying to think of a word to describe such a strange inner balance “ _nice.”_

Arthur huffed. It was silent for a few moments. Then he said, “Here,” and handed the potion to Merlin. Merlin took it but did not drink, he simply held it in his lap, cupping it with his hands.

“What is it?”

“Iseldir said it would help,” Arthur supplied.

Merlin’s grip around the cup tightened at the mention of the man who had beguiled him. Arthur noticed, and made due to change the subject.

“Well,” he scoffed, “we’re gonna have a hell of a time trying to hide your magic now.”

Merlin’s eyes widened with worry. “Why?”

Arthur nodded to him. “Your eyes,” he said, “they’re gold.”

The boy looked confused for a second. He then blinked rapidly as if it would dilute the stain on his irises.

“That can easily be fixed,” a voice said from the opening of the tent.

Merlin and Arthur both turned grimly to face Iseldir, scowls evidently worn to show their disapproval of the man.

“I told you,” he said, “that the potion will help his magic settle. I did not lie. Once it takes effect, the process will occur more quickly, allowing him easier access to his powers.”

The thought of his magic returning to his proper command made Merlin less offended by the liquid he held before him. He looked down at it. He could still feel the magic bubbling up inside him, rampaging about his body as if it were not entirely his. It wasn’t painful, merely unsettling. He wanted the order within him to be restored.

Merlin gulped down the potion, trying to ignore the foul smell it emitted. Immediately he could feel a change, though it was small. It became clear to him that the settlement of his magic would not be instantaneous. And, from the look on Arthur’s face, he could tell that his eyes were still sparking with light.

Smacking his lips together, Merlin set the cup down on the table and firmly told the Druid to leave, which he dutifully did. There was a silence again, before Merlin seemed to breathe out a small chuckle.

“What?”

Merlin shook his head. “It’s just, with all of this power ransacking my inners,” he answered, “you’d think my magic would have been decent enough to stop my sides from hurting.”

Arthur snorted and Merlin’s laugh escalated momentarily.

“Still bothering you, are they?” Arthur jeered.

Merlin let out a comical groan and replied, “Oh! I don’t think I’m ever eating soup again. In fact, I might just have a fear of them now.”

“Soups,” Arthur questioned, “or laughter?”

“Both!” Merlin agreed and they both shared a light hearted smile.

Gilli appeared a moment later with lunch trays then disappeared with a smile. Arthur could have sworn he heard a hefty laugh greet him as he exited the tent and could only assume it was the man he’d met by the fire. He turned to find Merlin eyeing the food cautiously.

“I’m not eating the soup,” he stated.

Arthur laughed.

After the late midday meal, Arthur demanded that Iseldir gave them the information that they had come for. Though he stalled for quite a while, rambling on about prophets and destinies, he eventually gave in and informed that the last he had heard of his father’s followers was but a few days back and that they were heading south towards The Forest of Brechffa.

Merlin insisted that they leave immediately, having had enough with the strange tasks, telling of legends, and pranks to last him a lifetime. However, Iseldir protested, claiming that they would not get far before nightfall. Arthur complied and Merlin reluctantly did the same after some convincing.

The night came and neither Merlin nor Arthur joined the Druids by the fire. They were still brought a fruitful meal, Merlin being thankful that he didn’t have to suffer through another fit that spoiled his appetite. Instead, he was permitted to enjoy it, without distractions.

Arthur was mildly nervous, noticing that Merlin’s eyes had not returned to their normal color yet. They were still gold, though it did ease his nerved when he realized that they had dimmed slightly. Even as exhaustion took them and they prepared for sleep, Merlin’s eyes were still somewhat bright.

 

 

In the morning, Arthur woke up to find Merlin picking at his breakfast, not really eating it. He took a glance at his eyes. They had turned to a vibrant, yellowish green, definitely on the slow decent back to blue.

Gilli saw them out, walking with them as they left the cave. Their horses had been taken into someone’s care while they were resting, having been fed, watered, and pampered.

Merlin was unusually eager to see the steeds. He walked a little ways ahead to ready their saddles. When Arthur and Gilli caught up to him, he was rubbing a mare’s nose and whispering softly to it. They both found it quite odd. Regardless, Gilli saw them off and watched as they disappeared through the thick lining of trees.

“So,” Arthur jingled as they rode, “what was that all about?”

“What?” Merlin asked, obviously oblivious.

“You and the horse,” Arthur clarified. “You seemed a bit close to it, more so than usual.”

“She wanted me to loosen the bit,” Merlin answered casually. “It was bothering her gums.”

Arthur took a moment to process that, with a look of puzzlement on his face. “And it told you that, did it?”

Merlin hesitated, questioning himself. Now that he had heard Arthur say it, the fact that he had obliged to a horse’s request did seem odd and slightly impossible. “I think she did,” he replied, somewhat confused.

Arthur scoffed. “You really are becoming nothing but a little woodland pixie, aren’t you?”

“What? No!” Merlin protested.

“Yes you are!” Arthur jeered. “You’ve got all the power in the world and you choose to make sure your _mount_ is comfortable! You’ll be speaking to the _trees_ next!”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “At least I’m not a turgid _prat!”_

“Turgid?” Arthur questioned, pretending to be overly offended.

“Positively bombastic!” Merlin spat back.

“I am extraordinarily humble, mind you!” Arthur retaliated. “And servants are not meant to talk back to their king! You are, by far, the most garrulous peasant I have ever met!”

Merlin laughed. “I wasn’t raised in prodigality!” he shot back. “It’s not as if I was ever taught how to act before a royal! Speaking of your luxuries, it’s no wonder you are so corpulent!”

“I am fighting fit!” the king declared, glaring back at his friend. He was glad to see that his mood had improved due to their renewed banter. “Besides, it’s your dilatory ass that never prepares my armor in time for training."

Merlin smirked. Their battle of wits was going well, each one trying to use the most sophisticated word of insult. “You’re such a high handed, egotistic dunderhead that I’ve got more work piled up than the rest of Camelot’s servants _combined!”_  

“Honestly, Merlin,” Arthur complained, “dunderhead? Is that the best you could come up with?”

“What?” Merlin tested. “Would you rather I use another? Moron? Dimwit? Buffoon? Blockhead? Dullard?”

“You’ve got quite a list stacked up, don’t you?”

“Ninny? Nitwit? Numbskull? Dolt?”

 _“Merlin,”_ Arthur whined.

“Drip? Schnook? Ignoramus? Nincompoop, even? Should I go on?”

 _“No.”_ Arthur heaved a sigh. He snuck a look back at Merlin to make sure his witty smile was still present on his face.

“Nincompoop?” Arthur suddenly questioned aloud.

“It means you’re simple,” Merlin sent over in a teasing rasp.

“Hmm,” Arthur hummed. “I’ll admit Merlin; you’ve sure got a lot of empty space up in that head of yours.”

Merlin grinned, but the glee did not reach his eyes. They had avoided the subject for this long, but the boy’s lack of mortality still weighted heavily atop their shoulders. Neither wanted to think of what might become of them in the future. Unspoken words seemed to say so much. They both knew that the inevitable would come. One day, Arthur would die and Merlin would not, would never, and he’d be forced to move on, watch as people slowly left him. Arthur would have liked to hope that Merlin would get passed it, cope somehow, but it was a feeble dream.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Arthur asked gently, turning to Merlin.

Merlin’s gaze did not move from where it was, watching the ground move past them. He just stared for a moment considering Arthur’s question, a question that he had offered the king many times in the past. Merlin smiled suddenly, realizing how subconsciously Arthur was repaying the favor.

“I’m not sure,” Merlin answered, voice raspy and uncertain. He looked up at his friend and they met each other’s eyes. Merlin could see the hopelessness in Arthur’s stare and it inspired a proper response. “No,” he corrected. “No, not now. I don’t want to be left alone, Arthur, but I certainly do not want this to burden the time with friends that I do have.” He smiled weakly.

Arthur returned the expression and nodded in understanding. They continued on, riding in silence.

 

 

Having been more certain of their destination, they came upon their targets far more quickly than the previous time they had been in pursuit. Merlin had sensed the Druids easily enough once they were near the southern border of the Darkling Woods. They needed not to travel the entire journey to Brechffa, thankful that the crusade of sorcerers moved slowly with their cargo.

Merlin wanted to pounce in on their prey the moment they had found them but Arthur warded against it. It was concerning to see Merlin like this. Usually it was him guiding Arthur away from rash decisions, not the other way around. What Iseldir had told him most certainly put him on edge. What was once a careful character, who always sought out a solution through peace, was now so easily corrupted and ready to jump into violent action. The king liked to think that this was temporary and was almost certain of it. However, it still unnerved him to see his servant like that.

“Wait,” Arthur instructed. “Let’s see if we can spot the sorceress first, before approaching. We’re not even entirely sure that she is here.”

“She is here,” Merlin stated, sounding certain.

Arthur looked at him strangely and the warlock made due to explain. “I can sense her. I’m not sure how, but I can feel her magic amongst the rest of them. Hers is different, familiar possibly.”

Arthur nodded, not quite sure that he entirely understood but paying no more mind to it. “Can you tell where she is?”

“That cart,” Merlin said, “there.” He nodded to one of the many carts being pulled by mules.

“Alright,” Arthur settled, “we’ll try and draw her out, away from the rest of the group to avoid confrontation.”

Merlin nodded obediently. They abandoned their horses and snuck along their path on foot. As they followed, they devised a plan and, once they were sure that it was flawless, they executed it.

Merlin took a deep breath and closed his eyes, seeking out the thoughts of the people around them. He sought out the driver of the cart in target, and poked at his mind until he was welcomed inside.

 _“Drive off the path,”_ Merlin told him without an introduction.

 _“Who be this?”_ his voice sounded in reply.

 _“Emrys.”_ Merlin could feel the nerves in the man spike up incredibly.

 _“My lord,”_ he greeted. _“You wish for me to leave the path. Why?”_

 _“That will become known in due time,”_ Merlin responded, trying to sound like one of the prophets or even the great dragon. _“It must be done for the sake of Albion and you mustn’t announce your leave. Just come, stray off into the wood.”_

_“But the terrain will strain the cart, surely there is –“_

_“Stray off the path,”_ Merlin urged, _“No harm will come to you or your cargo.”_

 _“Of course,”_ the man surrendered.

Merlin opened his eyes, having forgotten he had even closed them, and nodded to Arthur, letting him know that everything was going accordingly. At first, Arthur noticed no differences in what was going on around them. However, eventually it became clear the driver of the cart had slowed his pace so that he was at the tail of the crusade.

To their pleasure, once he was a ways behind the crowd, he abruptly turned into the brush and continued on a path perpendicular to the trail, keeping his head up in search for company.

He spotted them and, upon doing so, pulled up his cart and spoke down to them. “You have been sent by Emrys?”

Merlin nodded.

“What may I do of service?”

Merlin smiled slightly, for the passengers within the carriage had already begun to clamber out in curiousness as to why they were stopped.

“Where are we?” one of the young men called. “What’s happened?”

The driver turned and looked at them, nearly all of them poking out from the animal hide that covered them.

 _“Lie,”_ said the voice of Emrys within the man’s head.

He obliged.

“We were separated from the group,” he feigned. “Our mule had grown weary and refused to keep up pace and we fell so far behind that I am unaware as to where we are headed.”

“You’ve gotten us lost!” an elder accused.

“No, no,” denied the driver, “simply delayed. I have found two experienced travelers who say they know a safe way to Brechffa.”

Arthur and Merlin nodded at the mention of their presence. “I suggest you all stretch out your legs while we talk to your driver,” Arthur announced. “I believe I know of the settlement you are looking for but I’d like to compare maps to be sure.”

The people reluctantly began to do as they were told, all of them obviously peeved at the driver for losing their way. Arthur and Merlin brought the man a small while away from his cart and spoke in a hush.

“What is it that you need of me?” he asked. “What is it that Emrys has sent you for?”

“We’re looking for someone,” Arthur answered, “someone who we believe is a member of your crusade.”

“Who?” the man questioned. “Who is it? Whomever he desires, I will gladly serve.”

“A woman,” Merlin answered. The man’s eyes grew wide at the sound of Merlin’s voice, easily recognizing it as the same one that plagued his mind. “She has Catha symbols up and down her arms and a young, worn face.”

“You mean Nyneve?” the man replied, suddenly pulled from his awe.

“You know of her?” Arthur hoped.

“Indeed,” said he. “What is it you want of her?”

“Bring her here,” Arthur ordered.

However, the driver did not listen instantly. He first look to Merlin for approval and, receiving a nod of consensus, turned to obey. It struck Arthur, this act. He knew the Druids were loyal to Merlin, but here he saw an incomplete man, practicing false Druidism, eagerly accepting Merlin’s every whim. It was truly remarkable how these people looked up to their figure, Emrys.

The man returned with the woman’s arm in his grip. He urged her forward and presented her before his idol.

“Nyneve,” he announced her, “Emrys.”

Nyneve’s eyes shot up to reach Merlin’s upon recognizing the name, a true terror in her eyes. Arthur took in a breath of triumph, having successfully found and captivated the woman they so desperately needed to find. But when he looked to Merlin, the face he saw seemed to be that of a stranger’s. He was expressionless but, at the sight of her, there was a great flare burning cold in his eyes.


	5. Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin must decide what he is going to do with the treacherous sorceress as well as cope with his newly heightened senses.

The look Merlin had sent chills over Arthur. He couldn’t tell what the boy was thinking. Without warning, Merlin took an intimidating step forward and, with a cold, dark voice, said, “What spell did you use to bind my and Arthur’s souls?”

Nyneve simply shook her head, eyes wide.

“Tell me,” Merlin demanded.

“I’m not sure,” she breathed, terror adamant in her voice. “It was stupid! I shouldn’t have done it! _Please_ Emrys!” She groveled and tried to douse Merlin and Arthur with her despair.

“Why did you do it?” Merlin asked, standing over her, voice rigid and frightening, so much so that Arthur could only stare in shock. “What purpose did you have in binding us together?”

“I had no purpose!” she cried, looking up to him. “It was not meant to be!”

“What do you mean?” Merlin shouted.

“I was inexperienced!” she wept. “I did not know the true powers of the spell I was wielding, milord! Please know that it was not my intention to have you bound by such a pain!”

“Tell us how to fix it! How do we reverse the binding, restore our souls?”

“I don’t know!” Nyneve hollered, sniffling on the ground. “I do not know! I did not think that the enchantment would be so harmful! It was only meant to out you but now it has tied you to your king! The spell went so terribly array that I fled! Had you not been interrupted, I feared the visions you shared would have gone on forever!” She broke down and sobbed into the dirt.

Anger washed over Merlin’s face then. It was such a strange experience for Arthur. Such rage did not belong masking such a caring man. It was unnerving, out of place. It didn’t seem right. The strain Merlin had been through over the past few days must have taken its toll on the boy, leaving all his bottled up emotions ready to burst, and the bands were breaking.

“Liar!” Merlin shouted. “There has to be a way to fix this!”

Nyneve merely shook her head as she wept. Not being able to form any intelligible words, she simply murmured desperate things of sorrow and plea.

Arthur was quick to latch onto Merlin’s shoulders as he saw the boy lurch forward. He didn’t know what Merlin was planning on doing but he was thankful to never find out, for the moment Merlin seemed to remember Arthur’s presence he stilled and looked hopelessly towards his king. Merlin struggled to keep the bands tight around his heart, suddenly weary of what might happen if he let his emotions overtake him. He slumped in Arthur’s arms and looked to the girl before him with woe.

“There’s no cure,” he stated. “There really is nothing we can do?”

There was no change in the woman’s pleading, which was answer enough. Merlin turned away and Arthur loosened his grip. Then the two of them looked to the driver, who stood perplexed before it all.

“You,” Arthur ordered calmly, “Take your caravan and resume your journey. You are free to go.”

“And what of Nyneve?” he questioned, looking worriedly down at the woman.

Arthur made due to talk, but Merlin beat him to it. “See that she is safe,” he said. Then he pulled himself from Arthur’s grip and knelt down beside her.

She fearfully looked up into Merlin’s eyes, hands shaking and groping at the grass around her.

“Nyneve,” he addressed her. He smiled, trying to ease her fears away. “Thank you.”

“What?” she croaked.

“I know you didn’t mean for this to happen,” Merlin assured her. “But what you _did_ do, to reveal my powers to Arthur, should have been my responsibility and mine alone. However, I know you had only sound intentions and goodness in your heart still. And Arthur and I, we’re better now, thanks to what you did. And, though I would have wished my reveal to have been of my own doing, for Arthur deserved my confessions, I must thank you for mending us and making things . . . _easier.”_

Nyneve looked up at her lord, eyes filled with shock and her tears dry on her cheeks. She simply nodded before she allowed Merlin to bring her to her feet. As she left, Merlin looked to Arthur, a think line of a smile present on his face.

 

 

Merlin and Arthur spent the remainder of the day riding back to Camelot. Neither of them spoke and the silence between them was thick and awful, but they both knew that they needed to settle before they were to talk about what had happened and how sealed their fates were. They made camp as night approached. They continued to go about in relative silence as they started a fire and unpacked breads and fruits from the Druids.

“We’re out of water,” Arthur noted dully.

Merlin looked up from where he was laying out his bedroll. He looked to Arthur’s hands where he held his empty waterskin. He then looked to his own, sitting beside him with his pack, and saw that it too was emptied. Merlin took his in his hands and then reached out for Arthur’s. “Here,” he said as he took it from him, “I’ll go get some.”

He trudged through the woods a little whiles until he heard the soft roar of a creek. He found it and knelt beside the waterbed. As he drowned the bladders beneath the surface, he realized that he was quite dirty, not having bathed in four whole days. So, when the skins were at their fullest, Merlin cupped his hands and brought water up to his face, letting the dirt and grime wash away a bit. He then ran his wet fingers through his hair to put a damper on the greasy feel of his follicles before collecting the water and returning to camp.

When he approached, he found Arthur staring into the fire in obvious thought. Merlin wondered if he should announce himself or strike up banter or maybe even peg one of the waterskins at his face. He decided not. He simply sat down opposite of his king and stared into the flames along with him, the heat teaming up with the water on his face to make his skin feel warm.

“What do you think would have happened,” Merlin said suddenly, causing Arthur to stare up at him, “had Nyneve not have done it?”

“What?” Arthur questioned, only somewhat understanding Merlin’s question.

“How do you think you would have reacted,” the boy clarified, “if it were I who told you and not her?

Arthur looked at Merlin curiously for a moment before he considered his ponderings. “I don’t really know.”

“Yes you do,” Merlin insisted. He said nothing more. He simply looked at the king expectantly.

Arthur looked away from him. He did know. In those few moments that he was there, standing before Merlin’s enchanted body, knowing of his magic but not the story that went with it, he wanted to do so many things. And he would have done, had the spell not enticed him to keep digging into Merlin’s mind.

“You’re right,” Arthur agreed. It was obvious to Merlin that the royal was peeved by such a question. He hated himself for the things he thought of doing to Merlin in those short moments and he wanted more than anything to forget he’d ever considered them.

“Tell me,” Merlin said, looking away from him and back at the fire.

“Why? Arthur asked, annoyed. “You want to know how terribly things could have gone if I hadn’t seen your story and felt your sorrows?” Arthur huffed. “You want to know how much I hated you when I first found out? Is that it?”

“Arthur I—“

“No,” Arthur shook his head. “I suppose you deserve to know, don’t you? After all I’ve lived through every bloody moment of your entire life! The least you deserve is an answer to a stupid question!” He took a deep breath and looked to Merlin, seeing his eyes full of regret and wariness. “When I first saw you using magic, making the elements bend to your very will with nothing but a flick of your finger and a wave of your hand, and when I felt that raw, overwhelming power rise up within you, I couldn’t . . . I looked back at you and I couldn’t recognize you. You were a _stranger!_ And all I wanted to do was run away and leave you there! I wanted no part of you! I thought that I would just abandon you in those ruins and never come back and, if I ever _did_ see you again, I think I would have only bloodied you up without so much as asking you why! I don’t think I wanted to know why! I think it would have hurt too much! I thought that you had betrayed me Merlin! I thought you were the enemy, no better than Morgana or Nimueh or Morgause or . . .” he trailed off and let out another exasperated breath. “I couldn’t bear to lose you . . . not like that. Not in a way that suggested that you were never actually there, the one person I could be vulnerable with having been a threat the whole time.”

By then Arthur’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears and Merlin’s were equally glazed as he stared wordlessly back.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin eventually said, barely audible.

“I am too,” Arthur apologized. “I just wish that I could believe that I would have done differently but . . . the more I think about it the more impossible it seems. I was raised to hate magic. I feel as if, had it happened any other way that it did, I would have never forgiven you.”

Merlin nodded and they both fell into another uncomfortable silence. Then, it was Arthur’s turn to ask a question.

“I can’t imagine what all this has been like for you,” he announced. “Not only have we come all this way to find out that we can’t reverse this, but you’ve also been given some pretty numbing news about yourself. _You can’t die,”_ Arthur awed. “Never. And, you’d think, any other man would be happy, some would even kill for it. But you . . . you hate it, don’t you? How can you bear it? What are you going to do?”

Merlin gaped for a moment before he snapped his mouth shut. He mulled it over. “I don’t . . .” he stammered, “I don’t want think about . . . about what that means.” He felt his breath hitch and tried to calm himself. The inevitable was just too frightening.

Arthur bit his lip. “Why, Merlin? How can you still stand by me after all the pain I’ve put you through? You’ve been tortured and attacked by countless threats, most of which were targeting me! Hell, you might as well have been hurt by my own hand! And now this! You can’t ignore it Merlin, as much as you want to!”

“Stop,” Merlin pleaded silently.

“I saw the way you looked at Nyneve! I saw the look in your eyes! You’ve got so much concealed, even now! But you can’t just keep bottling yourself up like this! You’ve got to face things!”

“I do face things!” Merlin replied, voice still quiet and unsure. “I just – I can’t—“

“You _can!”_ Arthur retaliated, cutting him off. “You’ve got to accept what’s going to happen to you!”

“Arthur, please,” he protested in a hush.

“One day all of this will be gone! One day I will die and you will live! Everyone, _everyone_ around you is going to age and die and you can’t do anything about it! You’ve got to _do something_ about it! Be prepared for when it comes! Find a way to cope with it!”

“I _am_ coping with it, Arthur!” Merlin burst, voice seeming to tear at the air around them. “I’m ignoring it! I don’t want to _think_ about how long I’ll live! I don’t want to predict the days when all my friends will die and decay around me! I don’t _want this!_ How else to you expect me to deal with it? Am I meant to go around telling people how lonely I’m going to be? Should I boast and brag about my powers? Thinking of how the world will drag me along with it as others leave me behind isn’t going to help! I just want to pretend that we were never told! I don’t want the future to make me dread what I have now! I’m not going to let myself distance myself from all of you just because I know that you’ll leave me! _Why_ would I do that? Arthur, please! You obviously seem to think that there is some _obvious, simple solution_ to all of this! If you know another way out, please, do share! I’d love to hear it!”

Arthur gaped. A tinge of guilt and regret suddenly stung him. “Merlin,” he breathed, completely flabbergasted. “I didn’t mean that. I just . . .” But there was nothing he could do.

Merlin pitched forward and hugged himself and he sobbed. Arthur felt compelled to keep his distance from him at first, having been the cause of his friend’s pain. But he knew he couldn’t stay away. He had to help. It was his destiny too. So he crawled forward and frantically reached for Merlin’s arms so that he could hold them in his own.

“Look at me, Merlin,” he cried. Merlin struggled to lift his head and meet Arthur’s eyes, but, the moment he did, he coiled back into himself. Arthur was right. One day, he would be gone. “It’s alright, Merlin,” Arthur fretted, pulling Merlin’s arms towards him and enveloping him in a hug. “It’s going to be alright. Okay, Merlin?” But his voice was cracking and his eyes were glazed over. He too began to weep. He cried for Merlin. He left his pride in the dirt so that he could be there and cry for Merlin and hold on to him, let him know that he was there now, regardless of how long he would last. As long as he breathed, he would be there for Merlin. He needed him to know that, so he didn’t let go, not even as they both cried their worth and, exhausted, drifted into sleep.

 

 

Merlin was the first to wake, completely aware of the salt stains on his cheeks. He looked up to see that the sun was already up, just barely peeking out from behind the trees. It was late. Normally they would have gotten up hours ago, when the sky was still grey.

The boy tried to sit up but there was a rather significant weight that was pressed against his midsection. He looked down to find Arthur slumped over him, a face turned rubbery from tears and mouth parted slightly.

Sighing, Merlin lightly pushed Arthur off of his hips and onto his legs, carefully trying not to wake him. He then began to wriggle out from underneath his king’s hefty form, blushing incredibly due to the awkwardness of the situation. Even with no one around to see, Merlin was quite flustered, having woken to find the mighty king of Camelot in his lap.

When he finally tugged his ankles out from beneath Arthur without disturbing him, Merlin staggered to his feet and went to one of their packs to get more food from the Druid’s. He pulled out a variety of fruits and brought them out to a mortar. He took a pestle in his hand and began to grind several berries into a jam. As he worked, Arthur slowly began to stir at the sound of fruits bursting beneath the pressure and the pestle scraping against the mortar.

“Morning,” Merlin hummed as Arthur blearily blinked at the sun. The king cranked himself with his elbow, rolling onto his side to face his servant. “Woke a bit late,” Merlin informed. “I’m making jam.”

Arthur briefly eyed the purplish mush in Merlin’s hands before his gaze returned to his friend’s face. Merlin was smiling at him, beaming even.

“What’s got you so cheerful?” Arthur asked, clearly not entirely aware quite yet. Merlin’s smile simply broadened in reply.

“Hand me my waterskin,” Merlin prompted, and Arthur absentmindedly obeyed, handing him the bladder with one hand and rubbing at his crusty eyes with the other. Merlin poured a small bit of water into the mix and exchanged the pestle for a spoon, mixing the jam and gleaming down at his work.

Arthur stretched, reaching his arms out as far as they could go and hearing his back crack. Once he was loosened, he climbed to his feet and made due to pack up his bedroll. As Merlin spread his jam on their bread, Arthur surveyed the time of day and said, “We should still be able to reach Camelot by early evening if we keep up a steady pace.”

“Good,” Merlin huffed. “I don’t know about you, but I want a bath!”

Arthur snorted.

The two of them stuffed down their breakfast before riding off in the direction of home. Merlin, of course, broke the peaceful silence.

“What do you think Gwen would do?” he asked simply.

“About what?” Arthur questioned, slightly annoyed at the lack of context.

“If she found out,” Merlin added, strangely cautious of mentioning his gifts.

“About your magic?” Arthur clarified. “Well, I suppose really only she knows.”

“Yes,” Merlin tested, “but what do you _think?”_

Arthur seemed to ponder for a moment before answering. “I can’t imagine she’d be entirely devastated. You two are friends.”

“What about Gwaine?” Merlin continued.

“Well, I don’t know Gwaine as well as you do so I don’t think—“ He stopped abruptly. “Merlin? Why are you asking me this?”

The boy cast his eyes down. He wished he could resist Arthur’s worried look or his insistent stare for just long enough so that the king might forget that they were even speaking, but he couldn’t. “I was just thinking that . . . they all _deserve_ to know. Especially now that we know how I’ll . . . how, eventually, I will stop aging, possibly right before their eyes. They should know they’re getting into.”

“And what?” Arthur huffed. “You think you being immortal changes anything? You’re still a clumsy oaf, Merlin! And I know, possibly even more than you, how much you’d _hate_ it if everyone started groveling at your feet, being wary of what they say around you just because you’ll carry their words further through time than the rest of us! Your magic is your secret and you can go shouting it off the rooftops whenever you’d like, but I’m not sure outing your lifespan is all that great of an idea. They’ll figure it out eventually and I think it might be easier for them that way, to have it revealed to them gradually.”

Merlin nodded with a smile. Somehow Arthur’s answer was exactly what he wanted. Perhaps it had something to do with the king’s journey inside his mind or having witnessed the entire revelation first hand, but, whatever it was that gave Arthur such insight, it lifted the overbearing weight on his heart slightly. It might have been the insulting tone that Arthur used that really got to him, restoring normalcy to the situation.

 

 

The ride back to Camelot was relatively uneventful. They made it back safely through the gates and were greeted by a mixture of relieved welcomes and wary glances. Merlin’s keen senses could hear the murmurs of noblemen and servants alike, gossiping about what they though the king and his servant had _really_ done on their trip.

Gwen was the first overly recognizable face that met them, full of glee as she was reunited with her husband. “Oh!” she called, “I’m so glad you are back! The city has been in an uproar!”

“What?” Arthur questioned worriedly as he handed off the reins of his horse to a stable boy at hand.

“All anyone wants to know about is the sorcerer!” she complained. “And I have no answers for them. Surely you _must_ give them more information!”

“Alright,” he hummed. “Would you schedule a council meeting for me?”

“Of course,” Gwen agreed, though she looked concerned. “Are the two of you alright?” She looked over her husband’s shoulder at Merlin, noticing the way he avoided everyone’s eyes as he waited for their royal reunion to come to a close.

The king sighed. “We’ve had a rather . . . stressful journey. It put a lot of strain on us, especially Merlin.” He too looked back at the boy, equally as worried.

“Did you find the cure?” Gwen questioned, looking hopeful.

To her despair, Arthur looked to the ground and murmured a negative response. The queen let out a great sigh in reply, a weary, supportive look in her eyes.

Suddenly, Arthur jerked into action, becoming aware of the vastly accumulating crowd. “I’m going to go before more rumors manage to start,” he said hurriedly, planting a quick kiss on Gwen’s cheek.

Gwen gave Arthur her love as he sped away, Merlin on his tail, still solemn and conserved.

 

 

As Merlin shut the door to Arthur’s chambers, the loud rush of voices from those in the corridor was muted and they both sighed with relief, grateful for the quiet. They both rolled their eyes at the situation as they realized that they could still hear the muffled commotion from the courtyard through their window. The city truly _was_ in an uproar. It made Merlin’s head hurt just to think about it.

Before either man could say anything, a knock sounded at the door and Arthur bid them to enter with a heavy breath.

“Gaius,” Arthur welcomed, thankful that it was not a nosey guard or pesky council member.

“Sire,” the physician greeted. “What news of the ailment?”

Both men before him bowed their heads. “We did not cure it, Gaius, I’m sorry,” Arthur apologized.

“What do you mean?”

“There is no cure,” Merlin all but croaked. He’d fallen into a rather depressing mood as they rode closer to the castle. Arthur could guess why. Merlin was overwhelmed as it is. With every, peasant, noble, and knight trying to pry information from their lips, the boy must have felt dreadful.

“What?” Gaius awed, obviously distraught.

“The sorceress,” Arthur explained, “she had no idea what she was doing. It was an honest accident. But neither she nor any other sorcerer seem to have any knowledge on how to reverse the spell’s effects.”

A defeated hum echoed from Gaius. “And what of the sorceress?”

“She lives,” Merlin answered as he pulled a chair over to the window and sat down.

“And what of you, Merlin?” Gaius inquired.

Merlin huffed. Of course the physician could sense that something was wrong. After all, he did live with the man. “I . . .” he didn’t want to say it. “Iseldir he . . . he had me . . . it’s hard to explain.”

“Merlin’s gained further access to his powers,” Arthur filled in, looking to Merlin for confirmation. The boy nodded.

“Apparently I had some sort of mental block over it, to keep it from sparking up,” Merlin explained. “He had me break it down and . . . now everything feels . . . _different.”_ Merlin looked away from the room and out the window towards the busy courtyard below.

“Different how?” Gaius asked.

“Everything just feels more vivid,” the boy answered, “but only if I want it to, I think. It’s like I can choose how much of sense I want to use.”

“Let me see you,” Gaius prompted. He too pulled a chair up to the window and sat facing Merlin. Arthur wandered over and stood beside them, surveying the situation. “Look at me,” Gaius instructed.

Merlin slowly turned his head away from the window, eyes lingering on the outside world as if he hated to look away. But, eventually, he did look towards his mentor.

Gaius leaned forward and looked into his eyes, checking to see if anything was wrong or out of the ordinary.

“His eyes were glowing for about a day after the energy was released,” Arthur commented. “Iseldir gave him something to help it fade away faster.”

“Hmm,” Gaius hummed. “Merlin, what is it that you see?”

Merlin looked blankly at Gaius for a moment before his gaze returned to the horizon through the painted glass. “There are more colors,” he said, somewhat absentmindedly.

“What do you mean?”

“The sky mostly,” he said. “It’s not blue. It’s as if all the colors and more are mingled together within it; colors that I couldn’t see before, that don’t have a name and cannot be described. And the glass,” he said, looking the colored pane up and down, “it looks bleeding. All the colors are running down like ink.” He stopped, eyes transfixed on the glass before him, practically forgetting the conversation.

“And your other senses?” the physician pondered.

Merlin held his gaze for a prolonged minute, then turned and addressed the question. “The air,” he crinkled his nose, “it smells like whoever’s been there. The room smells mostly of Gwen, perfumes, silk, and fruit. She’s been cleaning. It smells like soap.” He looked up at Gaius. “You smell like chemicals and old books, used parchment, and ink. Arthur,” he turned to him, “smells like rich fabrics, metals, sweat, and . . . royal colognes.” He licked his lips, “And the air tastes like how it smells too.”

“What about your hearing?” Gaius inquired.

Merlin looked down at his lap. “That one’s the worst, I think.” He closed his eyes and began to listen. “I can hear the walls shifting and settling around us. I can hear a heart beat from across the room and I can hear your joins _grinding_ together as you move. I can hear pulsating rhythm of blood moving through veins. I can hear my own breathing and my own thoughts all at once, my own voice _booming_ in comparison to all the far away whispers and it’s all so _damn loud!”_

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted, pulling Merlin out of his trance. The boy opened his eyes with a start and looked up at Arthur, breathing heavily.

Merlin felt guilty for a moment, having sent Arthur into a panic. He looked back out the window and sighed. “They’re talking about us, you know?” he informed. “They think we’re lying to them. Some of them even think that you’ve been enchanted. Others believe you’ve betrayed the kingdom by consulting with magic users. I can’t understand how so many people can be so ignorant.” The look on Merlin’s face as he overlooked the bustle of busy town’s people below was of true sadness. It genuinely hurt the boy to see so many people turn against his closest friend and everything he believed in.

“Merlin,” Arthur tried to sooth, “when this is all over, the people will begin to understand. We will enlighten them and they will no longer have any reason to distrust us. I promise.”

“I want to tell them,” Merlin said, still looking woefully down at the courtyard.

“What?” Arthur asked, confused.

“I want to out myself,” Merlin clarified. “Gwen and the knights, at least, deserve to know. We have to do it sooner or later and you know it.” He turned back to Arthur, awaiting his reaction.

“Merlin,” Gaius warned from beside him, “think about what you’re doing!”

Merlin didn’t look at him; he kept his eyes expectantly on Arthur. The king bit his tongue. He had no idea what to say to him. He thought about how he should react for a few long moments before he actually said anything.

“Tomorrow the ban is lifted,” he recalled. “You’ll be officially, on record allowed to practice magic in the city.”

Merlin nodded. “Yes.”

“Is that when you . . . when you want to do it?”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“How?”

Merlin paused and glanced around the room, eyes passing over Gaius once before returning his gaze to Arthur. “We will tell them the legends. We will tell them all about Emrys and the once and future king and what they are meant to do. And then we tell them . . . their names, their true names.”

“And then what?” Arthur asked.

The warlock took a deep breath. “And then we see what happens.”

Arthur nodded. He now dreaded the rising of tomorrow’s sun. He did not wish to see the outcome of all this, in fear of the worst.

Gwen came in then, finding them all gathered by the window as they were. She frowned at the stricken face that Merlin wore and the cautious one that sported Arthur.

“The meeting is scheduled. It begins in an hour,” she told them.

“We must get ready then,” Arthur replied after a pause. “Thank you, Guinevere.”

Gwen smiled. “Of course.”

She then left, leaving the trio alone again. Gaius spoke.

“Is there anything else I should know about?” he asked.

“Well,” Arthur considered, “for the entire day, after recovering his powers, Merlin was extremely drained.”

“That is a natural reaction,” Gaius assured. “Nothing else? You feel fine?” he asked Merlin as he stood.

“Yes,” Merlin said.

Then he left.

 

 

Arthur and Merlin asked a passing maid to fetch some bath water and two tubs. She obeyed and, with the help pf two serving boys, returned with what was asked of her.

After washing Arthur, Merlin spiffed himself up in the warm waters of his own cauldron. Then, as the king continued to relax in his pool, Merlin arranged his master’s outfit while being quite miffed about how some of the fabrics, that once matched, no longer did through his enhanced sight. Arthur, of course, teased him for it.

Once they were ready, they walked side by side to meet the council. Merlin stood behind the king as he spoke reassurances to his paranoid subjects. He constructed a story, an abridged version of what they had been through. He described their search for the Druids, under suspicion that they may know the accused sorceress. He emphasized their hospitality, in hope that it would soften his people’s hatred towards their craft. He then went on to describe their short, simple journey to find the crusade of false Druids and them finding the sorceress, whom he left unnamed. Then, he gave the solemn news that she did not have the cure. To ease the paranoia, he told the court that she was killed for her recklessness.

The audience was somewhat satisfied with the story, and the tension seemed to slowly seep out of the room. Merlin let out a sigh as the people filed out with no further questions or accusations.

 

 

Starving, the king and his servant left, Gwen tagging along to accompany them in a late meal. Arthur let slip the hilarious events that took place when they were with the Druids, which led to the king and queen laughing and making fun of a red eared Merlin as they carried their platters back to the royal chambers in a team effort.

“Four hours, really?” Gwen questioned, trying to suppress her laughter to save Merlin further embarrassment.

“It felt more like six,” Merlin grumbled. “My sides are still sore.”

Arthur snorted.

They all enjoyed a lovely meal together, each having their fair share of stories and guffaws. However, as the evening grew old and night approached, the conversation dulled away and became a grim silence.

“It’s tomorrow,” Gwen said suddenly, taking a sip of her wine.

“Yes,” Arthur confirmed, “it is.”

“How are you going to do it?” Gwen fretted. “The people are not going to take this lightly.”

“I know,” Arthur answered. “I plan on introducing the sorcerer publicly.”

“This Emrys figure?” Gwen questioned. “I thought you said he’d demanded anonymity!”

“He did,” Arthur reassured, “but, after some consideration, he has decided to out himself.”

Merlin, sat between them in a lesser seat than the heads of the table, eyed his friends as they spoke of him. It was strange, hearing Gwen talk of him as if he were a stranger.

“Why?” Gwen asked further.

“He said he felt that he owed it to the people of Camelot. He has many great friends here and he doesn’t wish to keep things from them any longer,” Merlin cut in, no longer making any sort of eye contact. Instead, he stared down at his half-finished meal.

“Gaius did say that I know him,” Gwen mentioned.

Merlin looked up at that.

“I asked him,” Gwen went on. “I felt like he was someone I was close to, but I still cannot even think to guess who it could be.”

Arthur looked to Merlin and Merlin to Arthur. Gwen was obviously unnerved by the close kept secret, but they both, in this glance, silently agreed that they would wait until tomorrow to tell her, along with the rest of Camelot.

The evening drifted to a close and Gwen bid them goodnight as they parted ways. The companions were silent as they returned to their room, Merlin’s eyes downcast in deep thought. Strangely enough, though intense his thoughts were, his mind was mostly blank. It was the future he thought of; something he knew everything about and yet nothing about. That is why his thoughts were plagued by a deep, thick blankness. The unknown that would follow him in the morning filled him with dread and it consumed him. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel relieved.


	6. Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur follows through with his promise and it has surprising repercussions.

He had his head rested firmly against his pillow, listening to the muffled thumps of his own heartbeat throughout the whole night. They sounded like footsteps, traveling purposefully through gravel or dirt and he found himself picturing a set of feet walking along a path in the woods. After a few moments of watching the tops of their shoes drift out from beneath a long dress skirt, he realized that he was looking down at his own feet; or rather someone else’s from inside their body.

Merlin briefly considered the possibility that he had possessed someone but quickly dismissed the idea as he found that he could not control the body he was in, only observe through their eyes. It seemed to him that the figure was traveling south west, based on the setting sun in the left of his vision, painting a golden glow over the tops of mountains in the distance.

Trying to figure out where he was, he paid close attention to whatever the person looked at. The mountains must have been the White Mountains, tall and pale as they were, settled to the west of him. To the far south he could barely make out the peaks of Isgard as well, which meant he knew exactly where this person was headed, the Valley of the Fallen Kings.

His heart lurched as the charge got closer, pace quickening until he was looking over the ruined statues of fallen heroes through another’s eyes. Then, the figure paused and took in an accomplished breath before striding forward once more.

It was obvious that the body he was using as a looking glass belonged to a woman; from the long flowing dress, nimble walk, and the hair that stuck into his vision ever so often, it must have been. His suspicions on the person’s identity became more and more assured as the Crystal Cave came into view and filled him with dread.

He felt a smile curl onto the woman’s lips, a sneer all too familiar, and a slim, pale hand stretched out towards the entrance. Merlin felt words of magic pour of her mouth with vigorous confidence. The chilling voice made him sure of who he was looking through; it was Morgana.

The warlock watched in horror through a pair of contrasting eager eyes as the mouth of the cave collapsed and crumbled before him. Soon the mound that served as the body of the cave came crashing down too and a shrill scream of a laughter leapt off of Morgana’s tongue.

Though Merlin hated the place for the visions it had brought, he could not help but feel despair overcome him as he watched it fall through the witch’s eyes. Such a place, containing such pure, pulsating magic, brought to the ground was a tragic thing and it made his stomach turn. All that was left of the once amazingly powerful place was a cloud of black dust and dirt, dark shadows looming within, preforming an eerie dance upon the grave of the cave. Loss overtook him and he gazed with woeful awe as the birthplace of all magic came to an end.

“Merlin!” someone called. It was then that Merlin became aware that someone was shaking his body, his real, true vessel. He wanted desperately to leave the awful vision but, as always, the alluring trance had latched onto his consciousness, making it difficult to break away from. Eventually, thanks to the fretful vigor of the person shaking him, he was able to tear away from the horrid image before him and pried open his bleary eyes.

It was Arthur who appeared before him, worry lines etched between his brows. Merlin was at once aware of himself and realized that he was breathing heavily in a pool of his own sweat. He sat up, shaking uncontrollably, as Arthur babbled his concerns. Eventually, Merlin found the wit to listen to the worried words his king was throwing at him.

“. . . Breathing heavily and shaking and I didn’t know what to do. Merlin, are you alright? Do you need Gaius? What happened?”

Merlin looked at his master curiously, trying to remember how to form words.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked tentatively.

The boy took one more exasperated breath before he dismissed the man before him. “I’m fine. I just had a vision, is all.”

“What?” the monarch questioned.

“A vision,” Merlin repeated.

Arthur stood up and straightened his back. “But that’s not right, is it? From what I recall, you don’t ever have visions unless someone’s planted them or there’s some sort of outside force, right?”

Merlin nodded. “Perhaps the pillar made me more susceptible to them,” he huffed.

“What is it that you saw?”

Merlin shook his head. “Not now,” he said, massaging his temple. His head was spinning.

It looked like Arthur wanted to protest but, if he did, he decided against it and nodded in understanding.

Merlin quickly sobered up and a lump formed in his stomach as he remembered what day it was. He wet his face with the remaining bath water from the night before and made due to change into some clean, dry clothes before he tended to Arthur.

The two of them had the better half of the day before the council meeting had to be held, so they collectively decided to go for a stroll to calm their nerves after breakfast. They made a small detour to stop by Gaius’s place on their way out to the courtyard.

“Merlin!” Gaius greeted, giving his surrogate son a hug. “You look dreadful.”

“Thanks,” Merlin said in a flat voice.

“He,” Arthur was inclined to tell Gaius about the vision but when he looked at Merlin’s wary expression he changed the course of his sentence, “. . . didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Well that’s only to be expected,” Gaius scoffed, turning away from them and fetching a potion from his work bench. “His biggest secret is about to be revealed to all of England! I’d think it’d be worrying if he _wasn’t_ anxious about it.”

Arthur saw Merlin pale at the mention of the revelation.

“Drink this,” Gaius prompted, handing Merlin a vial filled with thick, greyish liquid. The boy downed it and grimaced. “It should help with the restlessness, calm your nerves.”

Merlin nodded. The two of them bid Gaius farewell and goodbye after briefly recapping their plan to him. Then, they continued on their leisurely stroll until they found themselves wondering into the lower town.

The courtyard had been strangely empty that morning. Anyone who was out stuck to the outer edges of the area, clinging to the walls as if some fiery beast would light them ablaze if they were to step out in the open. And, as they ventured into the crowded market of the lower town, it became clear why. Every person they passed looked at them as if they were some otherworldly creature, eyes piercing into them, trying to find their vulnerability. Others refused to look at them, like they were a disgrace. After sending sad, questioning gazes around, the two of them bowed their heads. Neither wanted to see the accusing glares any longer.

It was obvious that the people hadn’t taken Arthur’s decision well. The king cursed himself as he realized what scrutiny his wife must have had to go through while he and Merlin were gone. What was worse was that he truly had done nothing wrong, so there was no way that he could possibly make amends without going back on his word, demonizing sorcerers once again, hurting Merlin.

But Merlin was already hurting, even with the foreseeable freedom dancing on his fingertips, almost within reach. The perlustrating crowd was overwhelming. They judged him now, only for being true to his king and agreeing with his view on equality. What hardships would he face when they found out who he was? Those horrid looks stabbing to the core were directed towards him, Emrys, the cause of it all.

 _That_ and the threat of immortality corroding his every view on life. He tried not to think about it, he really did. But there was something about it all that made him feel empty, detached. He felt like he wasn’t allowed to get close to anyone. He’d be lying to them, making them feel connected to him only be torn away by age or death, something he lacked and desired immensely. No, he did not want to die, necessarily. He just did not wish to live and keep living on and on endlessly. And what would become of him after everyone he knew was gone?

Merlin was grateful to be pulled form his destructive thoughts when Arthur suggested that they head back to review the new laws with Geoffrey before the meeting. The servant graciously agreed and followed his master.

 

 

They met the records keep in the library, where he was expected. After a formal greeting, Arthur assessed the matter at hand.

“I assume that everything is in full preparation for today,” he said, openly.

Geoffrey nodded. “Of course, sire. Mm! Would you like to look over the documents?”

“Yes, I would,” Arthur replied.

Geoffrey gestured to the door to his study. “It’s a bit cramped in there so, em . . .” He nodded at Merlin.

“Right,” Arthur replied blankly. “Merlin, wait outside, alright?”

“Fine,” Merlin huffed before redirecting his attention to the books on a nearby shelf.

Arthur followed Geoffrey inside. The room was indeed very small. Inside was only a wall with rolls of parchment and old, torn tomes stowed away on shelves and a writing desk piled with works in progress and utensils of all sorts. Geoffrey quickly lit an extra candle and brought it to the shelves.

“Ah!” he said, tugging a scroll from its place. “Here it is, sire!” He rolled the document out on the desk and Arthur leaned over him to glance down at the writing.

“And this has everything that I asked of you?” Arthur inquired.

“Of course!”

“And have the new robes been made?”

“I checked with the seamstress this morning,” Geoffrey replied. “Everything is in order.”

“Good,” Arthur said. He then turned back to the new laws before him and skimmed through them. He smiled slightly. “Good,” he said again. “Well done, Geoffrey.” The king shook hands with the records keep and thanked him once more before leaving the room to find Merlin crouched down on the ground.

Hearing his master approach, Merlin whipped his head around and smiled at him. He then stood and held up his hand. From it, he briefly dangled a rodent from its tail before resting it gently in his other palm. “I found a mouse,” he stated cheekily.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Put the rat _down,_ Merlin. It’s almost time for the meeting and I don’t plan on attending it on an empty stomach.”

Merlin looked down at the creature and shrugged before nonchalantly placing it in the hands of a bemused librarian.

 

 

After stopping to pick up lunch, the pair returned to their chambers and dined. Arthur finished first and went to his desk. He took out a scroll and began to read it over, mouthing his knuckles as he did so.

“What’s that?” Merlin asked.

“Hmm?” Arthur looked up. “Oh, it’s a, uh, my speech for tonight. I’m looking it over.”

“Oh,” Merlin replied. “Want me to have a look at it?” he offered, standing up and approaching the desk with an outstretched hand.

“No!” Arthur denied firmly, snatching the paper away and out of reach. “No,” he repeated more calmly, seeing the confused and slightly hurt expression on his servant’s face. “I think it’s more or less perfected by now. I think I just couldn’t think of anything better to do with my time.”

“Oh,” Merlin sighed. He lowered his gracious hand and looked awkwardly to the floor.

It was silent for a moment. Then Arthur spoke. “Are you sure that you’re ready?”

Merlin looked up again, licked his lips, and seemed to contemplate his answer before shaking his head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready,” He sighed, “which is why I think we need to do it now. Get it over with, I mean.”

Arthur nodded in understanding. “Well,” he said, “the time is almost upon us.” He stood and walked over beside Merlin. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “I promise, no matter what happens you’ll be alright. I’ll make sure of that.”

Merlin sported a weak smile and a small nod before they began their final preparations.

 

 

There they stood in their usual positions awaiting their audience. Everyone began to file in slowly and with an ominous atmosphere about them. Merlin felt weighted, heavy hearted as he saw all the anxious faces appear before him. There were people he knew and people he’d seen and people who appeared to be strangers, all of them walking in like they were sure to be given dreadful news.

Eventually, the hall was filled with nobles and courtiers, all waiting in a deadly silence. Merlin’s heart went thumping and his mind went racing. All that he was, was about to be shouted from the rooftops for all to hear. Word would spread and soon all would know who the great Emrys truly was.

Even Morgana.

The thought sent chills up his spine and he physically shuddered. She would know. There was no telling what she would do with the information. The witch hated him already. He couldn’t imagine the terrible things she would do to him if she found at that he was the person she hated most in this world, the only thing between her and Arthur. The thought of Morgana also brought some speculation, however. She had been dormant for months now, ever since Arthur promised to lift the ban. Perhaps she was waiting to see if he would be true to his word. Had the acceptance of magic shocked her so much that she questioned her own motives? Or, perhaps she was waiting for the ban to be lifted so that she might infiltrate the kingdom as a false, magical ally. Despite his hopes, the visions he had had in the night did not support his belief in the best.

Arthur noticed this, he realized. The king looked back at him, saw him standing there, shaking, and eyes lost in such deep, terrorizing thoughts. It made his stomach turn. Merlin was scared. But, if he was truthful, so was he.

Gwen seemed to notice Arthur’s worried glances, so she cast her eyes back at her friend as well, seeing his prone, wary form. She turned to her husband. “Is everything alright with Merlin?”

Arthur was startled out of his concerns and took a moment to think of his response. “No, Gwen,” he admitted.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you,” he answered.

“Maybe I can help! Please,” she urged.

“You will understand soon,” Arthur replied, looking away from her and leaving the queen feeling uneasy and suspicious.

It was only moments later that the room had finally calmed and the floor was seemingly nonexistent beneath the flood of people. It was deadly silent and yet the thick air seemed to scream at them, making everyone’s ears itch for there to be noise. So, Arthur stepped forward and took in a breath, a deep, consuming breath that swallowed up all of the mistakes he’d ever made. When he released it, he began to right all of his wrongs with the following words:

“For decades, our kingdom had been plagued by a sort of evil, something that cannot be hunted down or executed by likes of a king or the law. It is a deadly prejudice that we have allowed to infect our minds and corrupt our definition of equality. Sorcerers have taken our land, killed our sons and our daughters. They have pillaged and killed mercilessly those who were brave, kind people. However, so have those without magic. There are common men who have done the same wrongs as the witches and magicians that we have been taught to hate. And, just as any man can be good, regardless of the evils done by his brother, sorcerers are not all evil.

“Magic is a tool. It is not different from my sword or your crossbows. And, like any tool, put in the right hands, it can be used for good. But, put into the wrong hands, and death will follow. _I_ use my sword to _protect_ the people of Camelot, but could I not easily turn on my oaths and slaughter those who trust me, just as Morgana has done? Each of my knights are highly ranked and respected. Yet, they do not let their power, their strengths _or_ their statuses corrupt them. However, you all know that there have been knights and noblemen and allies who have betrayed us. It is not _magic_ that corrupts, it is _power!_ And not all who wield it succumb to the devious temptations that have brought down those like Agravaine, Morgana, and-and . . . and _Uther._

“Yes, Uther. My father let his power as king corrupt him and it cost us a _war!_ It cost us _so much_ that we may never get back! Some sorcerers may never trust Camelot, freed or not. And I would not blame them after the cruelties my father put them through. He was blinded by hatred because of _one mistake!_ And he blamed magic, when, in truth, the fault was his own! Even your king, had used magic. And when he was not willing to pay the price it demanded, he refused to tolerate its presence.”

His breath had hitched due to the trauma speaking of his father’s wrongs brought him and he took a moment to compose himself. Then, he continued to teach his people, all listening attentively, still silent. Many had shocked looks on their faces. Some were filled with anger and others with curiosity. The king spoke on, unsure if the silence of his audience was because of respect or if they were all merely flabbergasted.

“A new law,” he said, “has been written out, declaring that sorcerers shall be treated as equals in this land and it shall go into effect immediately. Geoffrey?”

The old man stepped forward, scroll encased in his weathered hands. He unrolled it and held it out before him then looked to his king for approval. When Arthur nodded, he recited its readings:

“’Under the laws of Camelot, no man shall be put to trial for sorcery in and of itself. Only when magic is used for violent or immoral crimes and the sentence shall be distributed in accordance to those crimes and shall not become crueler in relevance to the accused’s abilities. Any man who shows prejudice towards a magic user in any form of violence or other actions that go against Camelot’s laws shall be put on trial for those crimes and the sentence shall not be lighter in relevance to the victim’s abilities. Any sorcerer, who is put on trial and sentenced to death for a crime other than sorcery, for the judgement of such an act no longer stands, shall not be burnt as the stake but shall be put to death with the method used in accordance to the crime committed. Henceforth, the act of practicing magic is no longer punishable by any means unless used wrongfully by the wielder of its power.’” Geoffrey, looking rather content, rolled up the law and stepped back, allowing the king to reclaim the attention.

Arthur smiled to the record’s keep. Then he scanned the room looking at the reactions he received from his people. Less and less of them appeared angry or distraught, it seemed. This pushed Arthur forward, seeing all the neutral, intrigued, and excited faces even! He wished he could look back at Merlin. He wanted to know how he felt.

“As of today, the ban on sorcery has been terminated! No man shall be punished for using his gifts, just as no man has _ever_ been for doing what he may be born to do! Hunters have their bows, workers have their knives, and knights have their swords!” He drew his sword from his scabbard and raised it into the air. “Sorcerers have magic and it is _no more evil_ than what I hold here in my hand! And, as I used my blade to protect the people of Camelot, a sorcerer, a kind man among us, born to serve those he loves, uses his gifts in the field of magic to protect us! He has been here for many years, acting as a loyal guardian whilst hiding under our noses, using _magic_ to keep those who are good safe from the evils that plague us! And he is here now! And he is the bravest man I have ever met!”

Letting his arm fall down to his side, sword hanging from it, Arthur turned, breathing heavily, to face behind him. There he was; Merlin, mouth partially open and eyes glossed with pride and overwhelming love. Arthur smiled to him and motioned him forward.

Hesitantly, Merlin took a step out in front of the throne and stood in front of his king. He avoided the eyes of the audience and blocked out the sudden burst of astonished murmurs. He turned and faced Arthur, having trouble containing himself, shaking from head to toe.

Arthur looked over at his people, acknowledging them, almost daring them to test him in his decision.

“Emrys!” Arthur announced with unadulterated pride, “Merlin! You have taught me so much and there is no possible way that I can ever repay you for all of the sacrifices you have made for this kingdom, for me! But I can do this.” Arthur put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and pushed him down, onto his knees. He then nodded to a nearby maiden, who held a bundle of cloth. She stepped forward and stood beside Merlin, unraveling the rich fabric and draping it over the warlock. Then, Arthur held out his sword again, out over Merlin, who was so bewildered by what was happening that he could do nothing but gape in surprise as he searched Arthur’s face, taking in the pure emotion that poured from it. “Under the new laws of Camelot, it is my _honor_ to make you the very first magical member of the royal court! And that is why, I, Arthur Pendragon, dub you, Merlin, as the one and only royal magician!” As Arthur brought the tip of his sword to each of the boy’s shoulders, Merlin covered his mouth and began to sob and laugh and cry all at once. He slumped over and the crowd watched wordlessly as Merlin’s shoulder’s bobbed up and down with each heavy, weighted breath.

He was ecstatic! There were no words for the feelings that filled him up in those moments, making him numb. He struggled to compose himself and, when he deemed the volume of his exclamations quiet enough, removed his hand from his mouth and smiled up at Arthur, laughing still and tears rolling down his cheeks. He then noticed Gwen, who had jumped from her seat and stood now, with her hand over her mouth in astonishment. Merlin promptly stood, Gwen’s reaction having reminded him of the swarm of cavilers that loomed behind him. He swallowed and accepted an encouraging nod from Arthur before turning to face the dreaded audience.

He was still shaking as he gazed over the intimidating crowd, a crimson red cloak draped over his quivering form, the Pendragon crest embroidered on the shoulder of it. The silence that once reigned was now replaced with a concoction of soft whispers and violent murmurs causing the room to hum. When no one in the crowd would congratulate or even address the newest member of the royal party and the air stunk with disbelief, Arthur leaned forward into the ear of his pleasant charge.

“Why don’t you show them?” he suggested in a hush.

Merlin, looking startled, turned and scoffed at the invitation. However, when he saw the auxiliary look in the eyes of his king, he knew he was meant to accept. So he diligently wiped the tears from his cheeks and faced the floor again, attempting to look proper as could be. He warily held his hands out in front of him and the people fell mute. In the lull, Merlin’s eyes wandered the room for inspiration, something to fuel his magic. He needed to put on a display, something that wouldn’t make the people fear him, something that would impress them, something beautiful.

Taking an abundant breath and closing his eyes, he said in a quiet voice, _“Afægrian.”_

Instantly, all of the torches in the room went out and the room was briefly consumed by panic, people crying out in distress, seeing that the only light left in the room was two brilliant, glowing, gold eyes. Then there was another light, a bright, blue orb that rested in the air above the sorcerer’s hands. With nothing but a look, Merlin sent it forward and it flew above the people’s heads. With a few short shouts of fear, they all ducked as the luminescence whisked through the air and circle around the room, faster and faster, the revolution growing tighter until it spiraled rapidly in the center and began to ascend up towards the ceiling.

The people watched in awe as the orb, revolving in a bright blur, shot up and hit the rafters of the hall. In an instant, it exploded, dispersed, sending little sprites of light out in all directions. For a moment, the room was dark and still once more, but then, as each of the tiny fractures of the orb became one in themselves, the room was a spectacular display of light, the ceiling seemingly having transformed into the sky, filled with stars that were brighter than any man had ever seen.

It was the type of sight that’s impossible to look away from, an image that had all minds transfixed on its beauty. This was the kind of scene that burns into your memory, never to be forgotten.

Turning to Arthur again, Merlin smiled, seeing the astonished look on his face. Noticing Merlin’s grin, Arthur reluctantly looked down from the luminous stars above to return the gesture.

“Thank you,” Merlin said with sincerity.

Arthur nodded in return and said, “Thank _you,_ Merlin.”

The two of them held each other’s gaze for moment, treasuring the happiness they saw in the other’s face, before they remembered the presence of the queen and turned to her.

She stared, mouth open, at Merlin, still in shock. Then she looked to Arthur and murmured to herself, “I know him.”

Arthur gave her a questioning look but, before he could question his wife she launched forward and enveloped Merlin in a crushing hug.

The tears returned then as Merlin hugged her back, whispering sweet nothings of thanks. Then, as she released him, Gaius came hobbling up the stairs and Merlin was engulfed again.

There was much rejoicing and anyone who wished to speak out against the positivity was either too distracted by the wondrous display above or was drowned out by the cheer of friends, servants and knights alike. 

The party that followed was entirely unintentional, all of those who knew Merlin coming to congratulate him. Sure, there were people missing who may have changed their opinion of him upon revealing his powers. Some of the knights refused to approach him and a few servants even left the hall, but they were lesser known. All that mattered to him was that the friends that he truly cared for came to him and accepted him. It was glorious.

But, glorious as it may be, it was eventually all too overwhelming and Arthur began to hint that the hall should be cleared. People began to file out and soon the only people left were the royal couple, the knights of the round table, the physician, and the newest member of the court.

“Why don’t we tell that Druid girl of ours the good news?” Arthur suggested cheekily.

Merlin huffed and wiped the moister from his eyes again while Leon accepted the duty and left to inform Kara of Merlin’s new position. Arthur nodded Leon on and walked over to Guinevere.

“I’m going to take him back to the room,” he said. “He’s had enough excitement for one night, don’t you think?”

Gwen laughed. Then she looked over at Merlin, where he stood getting patted on the back by Gwaine. Though his smile was bright, he did look tired. The areas around his eyes were red and his head nodded towards sleep every few moments. So the queen agreed, kissed her husband goodnight, and Arthur clapped Merlin on the back and stole him away from the crowd.

“You know you still have to serve me right?” Arthur jested as they walked down the corridor.

Merlin laughed. “Why? I was never good at my job anyways.”

 Arthur shrugged. “At least you weren’t boring.”

“I’m not that good.”

“That,” Arthur said, “I think we can agree on.”

Merlin chuckled as they entered their chambers. He dressed Arthur for bed. While he worked he felt numb, light, weightless. Everything that was happening felt false, like it wasn’t real. But it was, and it was perfect. It made his heart soar. When Arthur was readied, Merlin made to prepare himself for sleep, only to find the fine cloak still wrapped about his collar.

“How’d you manage this?” Merlin questioned as he removed the garment.

“I told Geoffrey to have it made when I ordered the law to be made. He sent off the instructions to the seamstress and you were too distracted by everything that was happening to notice.”

Merlin huffed. “It’s nice,” he said as he rubbed at the silky fabric with his thumb. “Really, Arthur, thank you.”

Arthur gave him a warm smile. “Get some rest,” he said.

 

 

The night was still. All of Camelot’s people having much to think about, heavily weighted information keeping tem pinned to their beds. While some slumbered with the news fresh in their minds, others sat awake with a strange fear hanging over them like a dark presence. The people wondered what sort of magic folk might be drawn to the city now that the ban was lifted and it frightened them.

Most of the city knew of Merlin to be the kind hearted servant and close friend to the king. They knew enough to know that his heart was good and could rest with the knowledge of his powers. But some still thought magic to be an evil and that all men infected with such an ability deserved to die. And it was these people who were up and very much awake.

 

 

Arthur woke with a start when he heard the sound of furniture scraping against the floor and a muffled voice of panic. He jumped from his place in bed and groped for his sword. When he felt the hilt in his fingers, he wielded it to face the intruders.

There, before him, were two men holding Merlin by the underarms and dragging him from his bed. Another man was behind them, holding a cloth in front of the boy’s face, preventing him from calling out.

Fear and rage rose up in Arthur and he stepped forward to confront them.

“Oi!” a sound called from by the door and Arthur was distracted by the sight of a woman standing there and pointing at him. Before he could react, hands were around his throat and a fourth man had tackled him to the ground. He held him there as the others dragged Merlin from the room, kicking and pulling frantically to get away to no avail.

As Arthur choked on the grasp of his attacker, he watched desperately as Merlin was taken out of sight. The moment they had him out of the room, the man released him and kicked him in the chest for good measure before following his accomplices out the door.

Arthur gasped and sputtered, struggling to crawl to his feet. It was but moments later that Gwen, Gwaine, and Percival came rushing into the room upon hearing the ruckus.

“Go,” Gwen instructed upon seeing her husband struggling for breath, “fetch Gaius!”

Percival rushed from the room as Arthur finally found his footing, huffing pointless rambles about Merlin.

“What is it?” Gwen asked. “What’s happened?”

“Merlin – Merlin – They took Merlin!” He gasped. At those words, Gwaine was out the door in a flash, sword drawn and battle ready.

Arthur tried to push past his wife and follow after him but she held him in place. “I need to go find Merlin,” he sputtered, already weakened from their separation.

Gaius rushed in then, medicine basket at ready. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Then he scanned the room and added with great concern, _“Where’s Merlin?”_

But, before he could receive an answer, Arthur’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed, just barely being caught by his wife.

“Gaius! What’s happening?” Gwen fretted.

“Percival,” Gaius instructed, “Help Gwen hold him up! We must get him to Merlin!”

“What’s wrong with him?” Gwen asked again.

“Milady, Arthur and Merlin must not be separated! Their souls are bound! If they are taken any further apart, it could cause them immense pain!”

Fear overtook her then and she rushed her limp husband out the door, sharing his weight with Percival. He was completely invalid as they rushed him through the corridors except for the occasional twitch of a finger. His feet scraped against the cold, rough floor as they sped. However, as they were carefully carrying him down a flight of stairs, his face scrunched up in pain and he let out a small yelp.

Gwen, frightened, stopped and lowered him down, thinking that she might have hurt him, but that did nothing to help, for he then began to thrash around, screaming uncontrollably.

“We must keep moving!” Gaius warned them and they lifted him back up with difficulty. Leon joined them in the hall and helped to contain the convulsing king. They often dropped him due to his struggles and would have to regain their hold on him in order to continue on to find Merlin, who was in no better condition.

 

 

The prejudice people who dragged him from his rest blamed the magic on his sudden outburst, claiming that the curse of magic had come to claim its price from him at last. But Merlin knew otherwise. All he knew was pain as the act of pulling his soul away from its other half caused his skin to fire up and sting all over. There would be no need to burn him at the steak, for he was already feeling the lick of the flames from under his own flesh. It was as if his bones had been dipped in the molten hot coals for forging and were now burning him from the inside out.

Then, as suddenly as the pain came, it left and he was numb for what felt like a long time. Feeling gradually returned to him and he was in pain again, but it was a lesser pain so he gratefully let it come, only relieved that the previous sensation had diminished.

He deemed himself blind at first, but slowly the darkness left his vision in the forms of black spots flittering away and he became aware that someone’s boot was being repeatedly rammed into his stomach and another person had knocked him in face countless times. He couldn’t open his right eye and his breathing was hitched, barely functioning. Even with the assaulters abusing him, he did not move, he was too tired and his limbs felt sorer than they ever had before. So, he just sat there, slumped over against a wall as men and women alike beat him mercilessly.

As his brain struggled to wake up from the grog, he put together the pieces and realized why he had been in such pain. He sat up some, startled, and looked around for Arthur, only to have someone smack him across the face and bring him facing forward again.

 

 

Arthur went limp once more as they approached the courtyard and excited shouts could be heard roaring on outside. Gaius urged them on and they rushed Arthur forwards, as they rounded a corner and began to descend the steps, Arthur sputtered awake and began to look around frantically.

He hadn’t remembered ever leaving his room so the sudden sight of a swarm of angry people in the midst of the courtyard startled him. But, what startled him more was the gruesome scene taking place. Merlin, unmoving, was blinking blearily around as two men and a woman beat him, one kicking him in the ribs and another standing over him with a chain wrapped about his knuckles. The woman loomed over and did nothing until Merlin made an attempt to look at his king, to which she slashed him across the cheek with a whip of her hand.

Though his legs felt like straw, Arthur tugged from Gwen and Percival’s grasp and lunged forward. “Merlin!” he cried staggering onward towards his helpless friend.

The men heard him coming, upon which, they hollered upward and Arthur’s heart skipped a beat when he saw what they were calling to.

The encouraging crowd cheered with excitement as someone lowered a long rope down from the battlements above. Merlin, oblivious to the additional threat, was then snatched by the hair and forced to sit up straighter. He winced, pain etched onto his face, as the roped grew closer.

“No!” Arthur called as he breached the crowd, pushing through, plowing over anyone who stood in his way. But the men had already received their end of the wire and were tying a sturdy noose. Arthur could see Merlin’s eyes go wide under his swollen features as he saw the rope being brought to him. For the first time, Merlin began to struggle, wriggling around and thrashing about in the woman’s grip and one of them men forced the noose over his crown and around his neck.

Just as Arthur broke through the crowd, the man threw his hands up and the people went into an uproar as the man above yanked on the string tugging Merlin upwards and unto his toes where he struggled to breath.

Arthur came at the man and tugged on his clothes, scratching at his skin as he demanded, “Let him go! Let him down! Merlin! Cut him down!”

But the man, easily able to overpower Arthur in his weakened state, tossed the king aside and threw his arms up again, causing another round of applause from the audience.

Arthur heard bloodcurdling screams from nearby onlookers as Merlin was lurched off his feet and swept up into the air by his neck. Being able to do nothing but watch hopelessly as his dearest friend was strangled in the air, Arthur froze, mortified by the sight of Merlin desperately trying to tear the rope from around his throat, making no sound but a low inhuman gurgle, and frantically flailing his legs about, causing the rope to bounce so that he was repeatedly rammed into the wall like an interrupted pendulum.

The king, feeble as he was, launched back onto his feet, fueled by anger and despair, and brought the man to the ground and began to strike him in the jaw as hard as his strength would allow. In little time, the man was out cold and the other attackers were warily backing away.

Just as Arthur looked up from his position atop the criminal, he saw Gwaine, up on the battlements, approach the man wielding the rope and run him through, sending Merlin crashing down back towards the ground with a _crack!_

“Merlin!” Arthur bellowed, voice hoarse and strained. He crawled to him and lifted his bloodied head up off the ground. At his touch, Merlin’s eyes flew open ad he gasped for air. Misery was painted onto his features as he clawed at the ground, coughing and choking relentlessly.

“It’s okay, Merlin,” Arthur assured, pulling the man onto his lap. “It’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re alright. It’s over.”

Merlin simply gurgled and sputtered into Arthur’s shoulder, tears mingling with blood and gross sobs muffled by the hacking of his lungs. He dug his nails into Arthur’s shirt, desperate for something solid and steady to hold him down as if he were petrified of floating off into the sky, never to return. He had Arthur ground him and, as the king wrapped his weary arms around him, making him feel secure and safe, they both slipped away into darkness, exhausted.  


	7. Neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin must recover and is forced to make very difficult decisions.

Blurred figures danced above him, striding in and out of view, their voices nothing but distant echoes that barely seemed to be real. Gradually, the images before him became sharper and clearer and he could distinguish someone gently calling out his name.

“Arthur? Arthur!” Gwen’s voice rang sweetly in his ears.

He groaned, not feeling able to form any sort of intelligible words. He blinked away the remaining blur in his eyes and looked around, realizing that he was once again Gaius’s invalid patient, settled into an uncomfortable cot in the physician’s chambers. It wasn’t long before his gazed landed on the old man’s looming figure, a puzzled look on his face as he absently licked his lips.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he cocked his head to the side and placed his hands on the king’s forehead.

Arthur took in as large of a breath as he could before answering him in a slurred, groggy voice. “I’ve been better.”

The physician scoffed before gathering a few pillows to pile beneath his majesty’s torso, propping him up into a sitting position. The moment he was upright, he spotted Merlin, still unconscious and invalid on the cot next to him. He looked to Gaius to ask how he was doing, but the solemn faces of he and Gwen cut him short.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“I’m afraid Merlin hasn’t woken yet and is showing little sign of recovery,” the physician informed.

“Well, can’t you do something about it?” Arthur asked, a bit more harshly than intended.

“He is bleeding internally,” the elder continued. “His fall did a great deal of damage and his other injuries are not helping his condition. He can barely breath due to an obstruction in the throat and he’s broke a few bones as well.”

Arthur stared back at Merlin, horrified, and realized that he could hear his ragged breathing struggling to pass through his swollen throat. He noted that the rope had been removed and left behind a nasty, black bruise under his chin. His face was littered with gashes from his beating and he had bandages peeking out through his bed clothes that, Arthur assumed, were plastered over his entire torso. He wore a splint on his right forearm and his fingers looked like they had been stomped on. The most gruesome thing about him was the blood that stuck up his air and dried on his face.

“His head,” Arthur commented to himself.

“That’s where it’s the worse,” Gaius explained.

“He practically landed on it when he fell,” Gwen added sadly.

“So what you’re saying is . . .” he trailed off, unable to bring himself to say it.

“Merlin is the only one in Camelot with power enough to heal the wound,” Gaius answered for him. “Even if we were to contact someone outside the city, I fear Merlin would die before they would arrive.” The physician swallowed and looked away from the boy, brokenhearted. “He has hours, sire.”

A thick, haunting silence filled the room then. No one would meet each other’s eyes. Then Arthur, in a cold, dark voice said, “Leave us.”

“What?” Gwen questioned, looking worried.

“Sire, I think—“

“I said _leave us!”_ he repeated sternly. Gaius bowed and promptly left the room. Gwen put her hand on his shoulder but he shied away. He did not wish for her comfort now. He needed to deal with Merlin alone.

“Let me know if you need anything,” she said sadly, before turning to leave.

Arthur sat there for the longest time, not moving, not even looking at Merlin. He just sat there with a blank mind, a dizzied head, and a heavy heart. But, after what seemed like forever, he eventually did move. He got up off of his cot and circled around it until he was standing beside Merlin’s, looking down at him. He could have sworn his face was more purple than it was his usual pasty color. Arthur silently chuckled to himself at the thought before he sat down at the edge of the cot, by Merlin’s legs.

And he just sat there again, for long while, not doing anything. He just looked at Merlin, watching the way his chest slowly rose and deflated. He lasted a long while but a time came when he couldn’t stand it anymore. So, he leaned over and gave Merlin’s shoulder a firm but gentle shake. He received no reaction, but he tried again.

Finally, Merlin grunted a bit, an awful, pained filled noise. And Arthur was excited to see him awake. “Hey, Merlin,” he said quietly. “Hey! It’s me. It’s Arthur.”

Merlin stirred slightly, but did not wake. He drifted back off to sleep with his head cocked in a strange position. The look of it made Arthur twitch. It looked like the most uncomfortable thing in the world. After a while of looking at it and wishing that Merlin would wake to adjust himself, as if his will power alone would arouse him, he had to fix it. So he stretched over again and lifted his head up, placing it back on the pillow as best as he could.

As he was doing this, Merlin’s eyes fluttered open. He was completely silent. So much so that Arthur barely noticed he was awake until he caught the boy’s bleary eyes staring wildly up at him.

“Merlin!” Arthur whispered, leaning in to get a good look at him, see how he was feeling. It was obvious that he was disoriented, the way he blinked up at Arthur as if he were trying to see through him. There was also a spot of red in Merlin’s right eye that made it look like a stray drop of red ink had splattered along the rim of his iris.

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asked him, as if he simply had a head cold. Merlin didn’t say anything, he just blinked again. It made Arthur crumble inside.  He tried to swallow the emotions and just focus on trying to make Merlin comfortable. He fluffed the pillow a bit, jabbing it in the side. Merlin closed his eyes for a moment at that, making Arthur worry that he might slip away again. But, the moment he stopped, they were open again, staring blankly ahead like they belonged to a blind man.

“Do you need anything?” Arthur asked. Merlin didn’t answer. He didn’t expect him to. He hoped that he would though and the blank look in his eyes made him shiver.

“I’ll get you some water,” he said. He spotted a tin cup on a table close to his bed. He figured it was meant for him to drink but he couldn’t care less. He brought it over and, with his free hand, tried to bring Merlin into a sitting position. But, the moment he tried to move him, the boy let out a long, agonizing groan and coughed up something horrible. Arthur immediately laid him back down and set the cup aside. Merlin kept on coughing and Arthur panicked when a spot of blood appeared on his lip. He knew there was nothing he could do for him, but it made him uneasy, so snatched up a rag and dapped it from his face and even wiped away some of it from his hair.

Merlin was silent for a moment, but then he coughed again. Arthur shushed him, trying to easily lull him down. Merlin’s face looked extremely pained as the walloping sputters forced their way through his throat. Eventually it died down, and Arthur took a deep breath.

Then it was silent again. Arthur stayed on the bed, looking down at his hands, folding the bloodied rag over in his shaking fingers; the only sound in the room being Merlin’s strained breathing. It was running out. Arthur could tell. The longer he was there the slower and softer his breathing got.

 

 

He didn’t know how long he’d sat there. He’d explored every bleeding thread of the cloth in his hands though. He knew it was close to midday by now, the way the sun had climbed high up into the sky and Merlin still had not properly woken or properly died. So he just kept fondling the damn cloth, stroking in in different directions and fingering images into the weaves of it.

“Arthur?” he heard unexpectedly from the boy beside him. He spun around and beamed at him like they were childhood friends who hadn’t seen each other in ages.

“Merlin!” he cheered, voice kept quiet. “How do you feel?”

Merlin groaned again and shook his head, which caused him to wince.

“Water?” Arthur suggested, but Merlin refused it.

It was silent again as Arthur waited for Merlin to speak, but he said nothing. He simply stared straight ahead again at nothing in particular. Arthur worried that he might slip away without a guiding hand, so he felt the need to keep him awake. After a moment of contemplating on what to say, he shrugged off all the ridiculous jesters that tempted him and told Merlin what was needed to be said.

“Gaius,” he spoke, “said you have hours.”

“Yeah?” Merlin croaked. He was barely audible and his voice was unbearably hoarse when he spoke, the kind of scratchy whine that made one’s ears itch. “When he say that?”

“A few hours ago,” Arthur said with what little of a laugh he could manage given the situation.

“So not long then,” Merlin stated, trying to take in a deep breath but failing to do so. Instead, he stopped short and let out a strained breath through the nose.

“Yeah,” Arthur confirmed, grimly, sitting over Merlin like he was his sick child.

It mute between them for yet another prolonged moment as Merlin looked around the room with tears swelling in his eyes. He looked anywhere but Arthur for a little while before he called out his name again.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, completely ready to go climb every bloody mountain in the whole cursed world to bring him whatever he wanted.

He made eye contact then, blue eyes gleaming with distraught. “I don’t want to die,” he said weakly.

Arthur didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know whether Merlin had somehow forgotten about his immortality when he’d rammed his head into the ground or if he was just plain reluctant to go through with something that undoubtedly proved his everlasting life.

“But you’ll be alright,” Arthur assured. “You’ll pop right back, won’t you?”

Arthur expected possibly a laugh or just a huff even, but all Merlin did was stare back at him, loss in his eyes. “No,” Merlin said. “No I don’t want to feel it. I’ve never actually _felt_ it before.”

“Oh.” That was all Arthur would say. “Oh.” He said it again.

“Please,” Merlin pleaded, something Arthur would have never expected. “Have Gaius fix me up. Medicine. I’ll drink any of that nasty stuff!” He was still delirious, Arthur could tell, but he was aware enough that it was certain that his fears were real.

“He can’t, Merlin,” Arthur answered. “You’re bleeding inside, something he can’t fix.”

“I know that, but—“

“Merlin,” he sighed. “There’s nothing we do. They all think you’re dying. _Hell_ they’ve probably started mourning you!” Arthur laughed. “Just hold on. You’ll be alright.”

Again, Merlin stared blankly up at him, pace painted with misery. “I don’t want to die,” he said again, hopelessly. Arthur didn’t have any sense as to what he should say so he shushed him and offered him the cup of water again. Merlin did not take it. He just stared at Arthur, fear and anxiety overwhelming him. He coughed again and it was forceful, exhausting cough. Merlin struggled to hack out whatever slime had built up in his throat. Then he stilled, fluttering his eyes once before he drifted away again, eyes still open, staring a nothing, unseeing. Arthur watched him as his breathing grew less and less existent. Then he just waited, listening to the patterned inhales of his dearest friend as they became weaker and weaker until the rhythm stopped.

The room was deathly quiet now, Merlin’s raspy breath having left him completely. Arthur looked over to him. His mouth was partially open and his bleary eyes were still looking up at the ceiling. Arthur half expected Merlin to jump awake, fully revived and rejuvenated, but then he remembered how he had been practically bedridden for two days back when he returned from being poisoned. He’d been quite tired his first few days back at work too.

A few moments went by and Merlin didn’t stir. Arthur’s heart sank and he turned to look at Merlin over his shoulder again. “Merlin?” he called out. But Merlin wasn’t awake, wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing. “Merlin?” he said again, more urgently. He nudged him on the shoulder. He didn’t move.

Arthur was beginning to fall into a panic. His heart pounded in his chest at the thick, empty silence that boomed from his friend. He shook him, he thrashed him about urgently, trying to get him to wake up going, “Merlin! Merlin! C’mon, Merlin! Wake up!” But he didn’t. Merlin did nothing as he was jostled around, being screamed at by a frantic king.

“No!” Arthur cried, falling off the bed and onto his knees. He faced the bed and scrambled closer until he was leaning on it with his waist and hovering over the invalid. He took Merlin’s face in his hands and tapped it lightly. “No, Merlin! No, you have to wake up now! You can’t die! Remember? You cannot die!”

But Merlin would not obey his wishes, his head lolling about his shoulders as Arthur desperately tried to rattle him awake.

“But Iseldir!” Arthur protested. “No! Iseldir said that you would come back! You have to come back Merlin! Now!”

Then, as if he heard his master’s calls, Merlin’s eyes fluttered and looked bemused up at the man who had him gripped by the collar. Arthur glared wide eyed back at him and ceased in his attempts, but he did not put Merlin down. He kept him held up to eye level by his shirt and they locked eyes.

“Arthur,” Merlin said quietly, acknowledging his king. He gave a small nod.

Arthur dropped Merlin and his back flopped back down onto the bed. The boy let out a soft grunt of pain, but it was but a tickle compared to the strain he was under before.

“Sorry,” Arthur said breathlessly as he sat back down beside him.  

“What were you—?”

“You weren’t waking up,” Arthur choked. He sniffled and then rubbed the tears from his eyes, only now noticing that they were there. “I thought . . . I thought it didn’t work.”

Merlin gulped. Then, he looked sadly on, staring into nothingness again, with a horrified look on his face.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked, not moving from where he was. By the time Merlin had woken he was kneeling on the edge of the bed in a rather awkward position, his legs sticking out behind him, feet folded against the floor.

Merlin shook his head.

“How did it feel?” Arthur asked. He cursed himself immediately afterwards. He didn’t want to know and he knew Merlin wouldn’t want to think of it, but he knew nothing else that he could have said.

He shook his head again. “Awful,” he answered as he pushed himself up off his back with a moan and sat up to face Arthur.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Merlin answered, voice somewhat void of emotion.

“I put you in danger,” Arthur retorted.

“Arthur, I’ve been in danger my whole life,” Merlin replied, still with a rather empty look in his eye. Arthur noted that the red blotch had vanished.

The king shook his head. “I promised that you would be safe after the ban was lifted Merlin. I can’t—“ Arthur stopped when Merlin looked away. The boy was shaking slightly. He knew Merlin didn’t want to hear his excuses. He’d already told Arthur that the fault wasn’t his but the arrogant fool couldn’t see whose else it could’ve been. Then he said, “It’s not your fault either, Merlin.”

Merlin bowed his head.

“You couldn’t have done anything,” Arthur assured him. “You were just – Merlin?” he asked suddenly. The boy in question glanced up slightly before looking away again. “Why didn’t you use magic to escape?”

His head bowed deeper into the soft of his shoulders. “They took me by surprise,” he said, not looking at him. “By the time I realized what was happening, I was too far away from you to be strong enough to perform any real magic.”

 _“Merlin,”_ Arthur said, concerned and disbelieving, “tell me what happened. Why didn’t you use magic?”

Merlin sighed. He looked Arthur in the eyes finally, but then he looked away again, gaze wondering aimlessly around the room. “I was scared,” he said.

“Of what?”

“Of them.”

Arthur’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped open a bit. “Why?”

“Because they were trying to kill me because of my magic,” Merlin answered, emotion leaking into his voice at last. “They wanted me dead for the _only thing I have_ because they thought it was _evil!_ What would they think then, if the first thing I used my privileges for was to send someone _flying through the air?”_ Merlin’s voice cracked, but he paid no mind to it. He just sat there and waited for Arthur to counter him.

“They were trying to _kill you,_ Merlin!” Arthur retorted. “It would have been in self-defense. There’s nothing wrong with—“

 _“I_ was afraid, because _they_ were afraid!” Merlin shouted suddenly. _“Of me!”_ he added. “Those people out there are _scared of me,_ Arthur! They think I’m some evil, ruthless, corruptive _thing_ just because I have magic! It tears me apart to see that _one word_ could send loving people running in the other direction!”

“Things will change!” Arthur insisted. “I will make the people see sense! Merlin, so many people accept you already! I am certain that we can easily mold the hearts of those who deny you with the help of our friends.”

“Not all people allow change, Arthur,” Merlin sighed.

Arthur opened his mouth to retaliate but left his jaw hanging open, empty of words. He had no counter to it. How many times had he offered Morgana a chance to change, to return to Camelot? She refused change. She was blinded by her desires just as these people were blinded by their prejudice. When Merlin saw that Arthur had lost his attention to answer, he cast his eyes down and coiled in on himself.

Gaius walked in then and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his ward awake and healthy. “Merlin!” he gasped as he strode into the room.

Merlin and Arthur looked up at him with sad eyes, feeling the interruption awkward.

“What happened?” Gaius asked, seeing the looks on their faces.

“Nothing,” Arthur dismissed as he stood. Merlin looked away from them.

“How did you—?”

“His magic healed him,” Arthur answered, having already come up with the cover story. “All he needed was to be woken up.”

“And you woke him?”

“Barely,” Arthur sighed, “but awake enough, it seems.”

Forthwith, Gaius examined Merlin, checking all of his wounds, most of which had reduced to nothing but pink scars. His bandages and splints were removed, there being no further need for them. It was revealed that Merlin’s throat was sore and that his head had developed an unforgiving headache. Other than that, there appeared to be no more physical effects left behind from the beating. That is, until Gaius asked Merlin to stand up.

He promptly tumbled to his knees and sprawled out on the floor. Gaius helped him back onto the bed and Merlin held his spinning head in his hands.

“He may have some balance problems for a while,” Gaius diagnosed. “Using magic can be exhausting and, considering how quickly he healed himself, it’s no wonder it left behind a few lasting effects. I’m sure it’ll wear off soon enough.” Gaius pat Merlin’s back in comfort, but frowned at the boy’s silence. Merlin had only spoken the bare minimum ever since Gaius entered the room, only saying anything when he was asked a question. Before he left, Gaius turned to Arthur and said, “The trial is in a few hours sire, for the attackers _and_ the girl.” 

Merlin looked up at Arthur, confused. Arthur shook his head. It wasn’t he who arranged the event. They marched back up to Arthur’s chambers and the trip was unusually silent without Merlin’s chatter. People passing in the halls gawked at the servant, marveling at how he was still alive and walking, even if he had to have Arthur guide him, lest he topple over.

Wordlessly, Merlin dressed and then moved to prepare his master. Arthur didn’t bother with trying to strike up conversation. Merlin had been attacked by people he trusted. He had _died_ for goodness sake! Arthur couldn’t blame him for being the tiniest bit traumatized. He note, as Merlin came to the front of him to fasten his belt, that he lacked the usual kerchief around the neck. He did not comment on it, knowing it would only make him more uncomfortable.

 

 

After a late lunch, when they were just about to leave, Arthur stopped Merlin at the door. “Wait a moment,” he said and he returned to fetch something from the room.

He brought back Merlin’s cloak, the garment that symbolized his new official status. However, when he attempted to swing it over Merlin’s shoulders and around his neck, he yelped and spun around, twisting out of Arthur’s reach. His head throbbed from the sudden movement and he keeled backward into the wall before sinking down to the floor. He caught his breath and looked frightfully up at Arthur, who stood dumbfounded in the doorway, cloak still held out in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin mumbled as he clambered to his feet. Arthur let his arm drop and he looked worriedly at his friend. Merlin, eager to assure Arthur that everything was alright, quickly snatched the cloak from his hands and threw it over his shoulders himself.

“No, Merlin,” Arthur protested, “you . . . you don’t have to wear it if—“

“It’s fine, Arthur,” Merlin insisted. “I was just . . . _startled,_ is all.” He gave Arthur half a smile and said, “Let’s go,” before nudging him forward.

 

 

“I suppose this was your doing,” Arthur said as he approached his wife by the front of the room.

“The girl needs to be dealt with,” Gwen said. “The people are urgently insisting that she is put on trial and they are _defending_ those who attacked Merlin. If we do not try them now, there will be riots.”

Arthur sighed. “You’re never wrong, are you?”

Merlin stood in his usual spot, only a tad closer to Arthur’s chair than usual. He found that it was easier to keep his balance if he had another vaguely stationary object to compare himself to, stop the room from doing pirouettes around him.

“They’re bringing in the girl first,” Gwen informed. Arthur nodded and beckoned the guards to bring her in.

Kara walked steadily in, a guard’s hand on either shoulder. Looking directly into the king’s eyes with a challenging neutral expression on her face, she was brought to her knees before the man she hated and the savior she gave up on.

Arthur stood. “Is it true,” he asked, stepping down towards his charge, “that you were involved in an attack on an arms shipment bound for Camelot?”

“Yes,” she stated. Her voice was firm and unwavering. It rang in the ears of those around her, like a broken bell that chimed too high.

“And did you not also make an attempt on my life?” Arthur questioned further.

“Yes.”

“An assassination?”

“Yes.”

“And were you or were you not working under the orders of Morgana when these actions took place?”

Silence. She said nothing. She merely held her blank, unwavering gaze.

“I _said;_ were you working under Morgana’s orders?”

“They were her orders but it was of my own will that I did it,” she answered.

“Are you aware that the ban on magic has been lifted?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think that your actions may have been different if the new laws had already been put into action?”

“It would have been far easier to kill you, yes,” she said. The audience murmured in disapproval.

Arthur walked over to her and stood so that she was at his feet. He looked down at her, with something of a plea in his eyes and continued. “Because there has been such a drastic change in Camelot’s laws and because you have been wrongfully influenced by my sister, I am offering you a chance, Kara.”

Another hum of curious whispers rounded about the room. Merlin narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what Arthur was doing.

“If you, under oath and before the court, repent your crimes and relinquish your alliance with Morgana, than I will allow you to live freely under Camelot’s protection.”

Another bout of hushed conversation rang out and all eyes were on Kara, anxiously awaiting her answer. She did not look away from the king. She merely stared him down, attempting to make him feel uneasy before, suddenly, she stood. There were a few small gasps and the guards took a step closer, ready to restrain her again if need be. However, the only surprising thing she did was obey Arthur’s orders.

“I repent my crimes,” she stated, sounding quite official.

More gasps escaped people’s lips and Merlin was looking on wildly, completely bemused as to why she would give in so easily. Arthur too had wide eyes for the statement and had no choice but to further confirm that what she said was true.

“You swear it?” he continued. “You swear that you no longer favor Morgana’s ways?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he tested. “What is it that persuaded you to convert so easily?”

“You have lifted the ban on magic,” she offered. “That is a true testament to what you believe in, I’m sure. Not only that but you’ve appointed both a peasant _and_ a sorcerer to the court! You are brave and obviously a fair king to your people and it is these actions that have _persuaded_ me to agree to your terms.” She paused and glance towards the knights that were lined up in their proper place. She smiled fondly and added, “That and Mordred.”

Arthur looked to the boy, who awkwardly nodded his respects. The king went over the information in his mind. It seemed reasonable, but he was no doubt still cautious of the girl’s intentions. He knew she and Mordred were close and perhaps destiny had found another route for their wayward Druid. He could only hope that both Mordred and Kara were willing to follow the right path without a fault.

At last, he addressed her, having made his decision. “Very well,” he said. “You shall be roomed in the guest chambers until a proper residence becomes available to you, but you are always to be accompanied by an armed guard. Forgive me if I can’t trust you wholeheartedly.”

She took a step forward and the guards behind her stiffened with readiness as her voice rang out. “And, to thank you for your mercy, I shall give you information on Morgana!”

The hall erupted with excitement then and it took Arthur a moment to calm the audience down. When he did, he hardly had time to address the proposal, for she continued.

“She has a small settlement south west of here, near the forest of Brechffa! A ruined manor, long ago abandoned! I can take you to it! I can help! She resides there now if my knowledge does not fail me!”

Her willingness was all overwhelming and Arthur found her gratitude hard to believe. He shot a look back at Merlin who gave him a wide eyed, confused look, telling Arthur that it was entirely his decision. Merlin’s mind raced, he had no explanation for her loyalty. But if trusting her meant finding Morgana and catching her off guard, granting them the advantage for once, then it must be risked.

“Then you will show us this place on the maps when the time comes,” Arthur decided. “Over morrow, you shall guide us there.” Then Arthur leaned down, got very close to her and delivered a warning. “But if you prove to deceive us, then all of the privileges I have granted you will be immediately revoked and your sentence may drastically change.”

She did not so much as finch under Arthur’s intimidating gaze. She simply held her own and replied, “I promise, you will be nothing but aided by me from this moment forth.”

Arthur took a deep breath as he pulled away from her and paced back towards his chair, giving her a small nod as he turned. He sat down, held his head high and announced that she would be escorted to her new chambers at once.

“Are you sure we can trust her?” Merlin asked from behind him.

“No,” Arthur said, not bothering to look at him, “not at all. But this is our one chance at getting the upper hand. We cannot let it pass.”

 

 

After a few minutes of regaining themselves, the lynchers were dragged in. They were in a far worse state than Kara had been, having spent the night in the cold, dank dungeons rather than a heated interrogation chamber. They each had their hands bound behind their backs and there was at least one guard to every man.

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat when he set eyes upon his attackers. He hadn’t seen their faces before, but now he found their identities disturbing. There were about eight of them, all glowering at him with hatred in their gaze, all of which he knew.

One of them was the tiny stable boy that had replaced Tyr as the main horse keeper. Merlin had been become somewhat fond of him after a surprisingly enjoyable time mucking out the stables with his company. Now he stood before the court, charged with the attempted murder of Merlin. It made his stomach turn.

There were two women among them. One was a handmaiden and the other Merlin thought worked in the kitchens. Both had talked merrily with him about the palace gossip on many occasions over the years and he couldn’t have ever imagined them being a part of such a cruel crime during those times.

The butcher was a hefty man with a tangled mess of a beard on his chin and Merlin had shared laughs with him a few times while taking Arthur’s game to be minced. The man knew he was not fond of hunting and often teased him light heartedly on how soft he was. That very same man now looked upon Merlin as if he were a monster.

Two of the men were knights, in fact, and, though Merlin wasn’t sure he knew them by name, he had always thought them great and loyal. They fought well with Arthur and the others and would often think them worthy of a spot at the round table had they not blatantly missed practices and meetings on a regular basis. They would never have that chance again, though. They went against the knight’s code, endangering an innocent citizen of Camelot, not that they saw it that way.

The last was a serving boy, no different from himself. He seemed scared out of his wits to be put up on trial and yet he still managed to scowl at Merlin. The prejudice that controlled these people was outstanding and revolting. People who had so much potential to be kind hearted can turn so very cruel when an insane idea etched into their heads refuses to be challenged. It seemed that most of Camelot was able to wash away the script in their heads that deemed magic an evil practice or ignore it in the least. But, for some, it was carved in stone, never to be doubted.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice came suddenly, pulling Merlin out of his daze. He hadn’t realized the way he gripped onto the back of Arthur’s chair as if he were afraid he would fly off again, but now he was painfully aware and the memory of being strung up stung fresh again in his mind.

“Yes?” he responded, voice hoarse.

“You’re okay?”

“Yes.”

Arthur looked less than convinced but nodded anyway, it certainly not being the time or place to argue about it. Instead, he faced the accused again and looked them over.

“You are all charged for attempted murder of the royal magician, Merlin,” Arthur announced. “Do you deny these claims?”

There was an uneven singsong of the word “No” being irritably forced through reluctant lips.

“So you admit to attacking an innocent man?”

The butcher laughed. “There’s nothing innocent about that man!”

“No?” Arthur questioned. “What wrongs has he done then?”

“He has magic,” the butcher said simply. The other’s looked to each other, some nodding in agreement.

“Yes, but what wrongs has he done?” Arthur asked again, having none of their prejudices.

“The possession of magic is wrong in and of itself!” declared the handmaiden.

“I would not have such a vile creature walking free in my streets!” spat one of the knights. “Near our families! Near our children!”

“And yet you carry a sword,” Arthur said. “You could easily terrorize the people, just as much as he could.” He gestured to Merlin with a flick of his wrist. “You bring your weapons home, show them to your children, no doubt, and you say that this man is a menace for possessing a power that he’s kept secret.”

“Why would someone keep something secret if it is not wrong?” challenged the butcher in his gruff, loud voice.

“Why wouldn’t _you_ keep a secret that held your very survival in the balance?” Arthur retorted. “The act of magic is not wrong. _Using_ magic for the wrong purposes is an entirely different matter. But I can assure you that Merlin has never done anything but good with his powers. And yet, you strung him up like someone fit to slaughter. Tell me, how is that just?”

“The man is a monster and you let him wonder freely throughout the realm and you welcome others like him into the city as well!” the second knight declared. “You are putting your people in danger and I saw it as my duty as a knight to protect the people from such devilish creatures!”

“Merlin is no devil!” Arthur said angrily, voice rising a bit too loud to be formal.

“Merlin is a bastard!” cried the kitchen wench.

Arthur’s eyes went wide with anger at the words and the council around him were all aghast with the news. Gaius looked fretfully towards Merlin, who had visibly paled.

“I heard him say it himself!” screamed the girl. “He knew not of his father! _He has no father!_ He’s a cambion! Son of a devil, a succubus, and a whore!”

“Enough!” Arthur roared, launching onto his feet after slamming his fist down on the arm of his chair. The room dwindled into silence. “Merlin is not a cambion or a devil or anything of evil descendant. I have seen Merlin’s father and he is no less human than you or I.”

“Then show him to us!” One of them called out.

“I cannot,” Arthur said solemnly. “He is dead.” Arthur clenched his fists, hating the awful words that were being uttered in Merlin’s presence. He dared not to turn around and see the sorry, broken face of his friend.

“Regardless of what he is,” called out the butcher, “he possesses magic! Magic has corrupted him beyond repair and we must rid the world of this blemish!”

“Corrupted?” Arthur challenged furiously. “Blemish! You call him a blemish on Camelot’s name and yet you go so far as to kill a man! You _lynched_ him! You strung him up like an animal! He is your equal, no different from your mother, brother, or daughter! He is someone’s son! Someone’s family! And you have him _hanged_ just for existing!” He stopped, took a breath, regained himself, then said, “And that is why I shall leave your punishment in the victim’s hands. It is Merlin who shall decide your fate, just as you forced his upon him.”

He turned to Merlin and beckoned him forward. But Merlin just stood there and shook his head. “No, Arthur, I don’t – I can’t.”

Arthur motioned him to move again as he reached out for his hand, thinking that he might be dizzy and need assistance. He was and he did, but he grasped Arthur’s arm hesitantly before he brought Merlin to stand beside him.

“Decide their sentence,” Arthur told him, looking proud of himself.

Merlin froze, facing the people who had him hanging from the battements like a bleeding ragdoll! They were prejudice and hostile and yet Merlin couldn’t bring himself to see them as bad people. They thought that what they were doing was right and they had shown kindness to him in the past. Merlin wasn’t one to hate for wrongs done to himself. Half of the time, he felt that he deserved the horrid treatment he got, retribution for all the lives that had been wasted for the sake of his _damned_ destiny.

“I can’t,” Merlin said, only loud enough for Arthur to hear.

“What?” Arthur questioned.

“I don’t – I can’t! I don’t want to, Arthur,” he pleaded. “I can’t choose a punishment for these people when they think they’re in the right. They need to learn, Arthur. I do not think they meant any harm. They think I’m something to be feared and, if I was, would it not be right of them to smite me?”

 _“Merlin,_ these people had you dangling for your life!” Arthur protested, somewhat regretting what he said with the way Merlin tensed. “How can you be so easy to forgive them?”

“I’m not forgiving them Arthur,” Merlin denied. “I think they need teaching. No doubt I can never look at them the same way again, but I do not think that they deserve to die!”

Arthur looked at Merlin, confusion showing in his features. “Even after crawling inside your mind, you still manage to amaze me.”

Then there was silence as the two of them remembered that there was a sizable crowd around them, probably suspicious of their private conversation. Arthur straightened himself and took a step away from Merlin towards the accused.

“You should consider yourselves lucky to be in the presence of such a kind hearted soul,” he boomed. “Had you strung up any other man, I doubt they would have granted you the mercy that Merlin has. He has decided that you shall not be punished, seeing that you thought that what you were doing was just. But, I, on the other hand, am not satisfied with simply letting you go with a slap on the wrist. Therefore, you are all revoked of your positions and your titles and must find jobs elsewhere. I will not have such prejudices practiced within these walls. If you choose to rid your minds of these hateful and biased beliefs, then you may return and I may be kind enough to offer you another post.”

The broken faces of the men and women were enough to put Arthur to ease, but he could feel Merlin fidgeting behind him and knew he must be struggling, what with the room filled with people who wanted to spill his guts and his head making them all dance around his vision.

“You have two days to leave the city. The council is dismissed,” Arthur said firmly, before moving a bit too quickly to Merlin’s side. Gwen was up out of her seat as well, comforting hands on Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin was breathing rather heavily by the time the room was cleared and Gwen helped Arthur get him back to their chambers.

 

 

Gwen had ordered another servant to prepare dinner and Merlin thought it sweet that she would have the three of them dine together. But, when the meal failed to arrive, he became confused and slightly anxious when Arthur suggested that he take a cold bath.

He agreed and the water was brought. Arthur and Gwen chatted on about something unimportant as he soaked in the cool pool around him. He was greatly curious though. Perhaps it was the way his head spun or the fact that his whole life seemed to be collapsing around him that made him so wary. He wondered why the two of them kept glancing in Merlin’s direction as they talked on the edge of the bed. But his wondering got the best of him and his head began to ache. Then, he slipped into a sort of daze to rid himself of the pain.

And suddenly, all he could hear were the strange faraway sounds of falling rocks and a pair of ragged breaths. Then blueish dots danced across his vision. A feeling of cold overtook him and she shivered, a small, brisk noise escaping his lips.

“Merlin?” Gwen’s voice seeped through into his mind and he blinked until he could see her face, looking worriedly at him.

Then he remembered that he was in the tub and that dinner was soon to be upon them. Though he had become quite used to Arthur, and sometimes Guinevere, being in the room while he was bathing, ever since he’d been forced to live so close to the man at all times, it still made him bashful to have the queen standing so close with himself so prone. “Oh,” he muttered, bringing his knees to his chest.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, handing the boy a towel, “get out before you freeze to death.”

“It was y-your idea to have me use cold water,” Merlin accused, putting on a smile.

“We thought it might wake you up a bit,” Gwen said.

“Seems like all it did was pull you further towards sleep,” Arthur grumbled as he turned his back to them and slipped behind the changing screen.

 “I,” Merlin said, “I-I thought I saw something.” He then climbed out of the tub, quick to pull the towel around him. He wore it in the way a woman would, covering his chest, covering his scars.

Gwen glanced behind her, towards the door. “There’s nothing, Merlin,” she assured.

“No,” Merlin clarified, “like a vision.”

Arthur’s head popped out from behind the screen then, concern on his face. “Was it the same one as before?”

Gwen gave him a questioning look.

“Oh.” Merlin had almost forgotten about the vision with the Crystal Cave, what with all that had happened. Then, as he replayed the images in his mind, something clicked. “Oh! I think . . . it might have been, only different.”

“He’s having visions?” Gwen questioned.

“Only recently,” Arthur said, stepping out, dressed in fresh clothes. Arthur’s readiness reminded Merlin that he too was meant to be getting changed. He took his clothes and stepped behind the screen.

He dressed quickly and returned to the concerned faces of his friends.

“Tell us,” Arthur said, but it was less than an order and more of a suggestion.

Merlin took a deep breath. “Well—“ But there was a knock on the door and a servant came in with their dinner. Merlin watched him awkwardly as he placed the food on the table and left. Gwen thanked the boy and took a seat, beckoning Arthur to do the same. Merlin gingerly sat between them.

“So what happened?” Arthur questioned, ignoring the presence of the food.

“It was Morgana,” Merlin said. He and Gwen shared a fretful look. “She went to the Crystal Cave and destroyed it.”

“Sorry,” Gwen said meekly. “What cave?”

“The Crystal Cave,” Arthur echoed. “Merlin was told that it is the birthplace of all magic.”

“So why would Morgana destroy it?” Gwen questioned, looking to Merlin for answers.

“I don’t know,” Merlin said, looking away from them, trying desperately to think of an explanation. His head popped up. “And just now, I think I was within the cave as it was collapsing. I could hear someone inside.”

“Could you tell who it was?” Arthur asked.

“No,” Merlin replied. “No I couldn’t.” He let out an exasperated sigh and stared at the table looking defeated.

“Well,” Gwen perked, eager to lift the mood as always, “we can’t let this food go to waste!”

Merlin smiled and Arthur agreed as he dug into the cumbersome chicken leg before him. They fell into a cheery conversation, sharing interests and telling stories, mostly about Merlin’s adventures. The event of Gwen having kissed Merlin during his time of dying all those years ago became one of their many subjects, causing Arthur to blush uncontrollably. Gwen and Merlin found pleasure in teasing him for it, though eventually he appeared too offended for it to go on any longer and his wife assured him that it was in the past.

Then it was Merlin’s turn to be shy when, somehow, the conversation took an embarrassing turn. Arthur brought up the _incident_ with the laughing potion Gilli had used on him in attempts to jest at his friend. Merlin had bit his tongue and refused to laugh at his jokes and jeers. In fact, he almost looked afraid, as if the slightest snicker would send him into another unstoppable fit of chuckles and guffaws.

Gwen took pity on him and mentioned one of the many times that Arthur snorted when he laughed, which shut him up quite abruptly. Then he tried his fun at Gwen, mentioning the remedy that Gaius had used on her when he was possessed by the goblin, causing a rather awkward disruption of the bowels. She turned pink.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Gwen protested, slapping Arthur’s arm from across the table.

“And then you had Merlin cleaning up the mess!” Arthur added with a laugh.

“I do that quite often,” Merlin huffed.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve had my fair share of saving Arthur’s life as well,” Gwen teased.

“I’m sure,” Merlin responded, slightly amused.

“Well who’s meant to save the king when his _little protector_ is the very person trying to kill him, hm?”

“I am,” Merlin stated. “I’ll have you know that, after you did . . . _whatever you did_ to stop me from trying to assassinate Arthur, _I_ still had to sneak into Morgana’s hut and kill the thing that was making me do it!”

“It’s true,” Arthur confirmed with a nod.

“At least you didn’t have to chase you around all day,” Gwen said. “I had to stop you from killing him—what? Four times?”

“At least you could chase me around!” Merlin chuckled. “When _you_ were possessed to kill the king, I couldn’t do much to stop you without it seeming like a direct assault to the _queen!”_

“Wait,” Arthur paused, looking between the two of them. “Has _everyone_ in this bloody kingdom been, at some point, possessed to kill me?”

Merlin pretended to mull it over before he agreed with a nod, “Just about, yeah.”

Gwen stifled a laugh.

“Even _you_ were possessed to kill you,” Merlin added thoughtfully, thinking it to be one of the strangest phrases to ever leave his mouth. 

Arthur looked at him questioningly.

“The Sidhe,” Merlin clarified.

“Right,” Arthur said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Even Gaius tried to _tamper_ with the kingdom,” Gwen added.

“You mean by stirring up your bowels?” Arthur tested, trying to make his previous joke resurface.

“Or giving you the ears of an ass!” Merlin cried, a wide, challenging smile on his face.

Arthur’s face resembled a ripe apple after that. Merlin gave Gwen a look before he muttered a spell under his breath. With a flash of his eyes, he had Arthur braying for him to stop. Of course, due to the hilariousness of the situation, Merlin couldn’t. He and Gwen where laughing too hard to speak and, every time Arthur shouted at them with the voice of a mule, their outburst would only increase in volume.

Eventually, Merlin released his spell on Arthur (only after traumatizing him by pretending he couldn’t figure out how to reverse it) and they were all feeling giddy with too much energy to sleep, though Arthur pretended to be utterly finished with Merlin and Gwen’s nonsense.

A servant came and collected their trays, Merlin still feeling extremely out of place, being served, that is. He briefly wondered if Gwen felt the same way when she first became queen. Regardless of how awake they were, it was getting late and their plans for the future demanded rest. So, the trio slipped into their night clothes, Merlin climbing into his bed and the royal couple into theirs, Gwen having requested she spend the night.

 

 

Morning came and it felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from all of their hearts. An evening without planning or serious discussions or preventing the awful, inevitable, downfall of Camelot did wonders for Merlin. He no longer felt like the world was going to fall out from beneath his feet at any given moment and his head had begun to clear up quite nicely, not that he should necessarily be doing _summersaults._

Just as he always did, after getting dressed, Merlin threw open the blinds and called out for all the world to hear that it was “Time for Camelot’s greatest _mooncalf_ to wake up!”

Gwen was groggily amused by her tempered husband as he attempted to run Merlin down, chasing him about the room, throwing pillows and goblets every which way.

But, in the end, Arthur could only help but smile at his foolish gimp of a friend. He found great comfort that Merlin’s mood had improved; far more energetic, far less skittish, and far more _irritable._ To his pleasure, the idiot had even gone back to wearing that _ridiculous_ neckerchief again.

 


	8. Maps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's visions are becoming troublesome.

They came to her chambers in the early morning, eager to get the information that they needed. Laying down maps in front of her, they demanded that she point out where exactly Morgana’s fort was and how to get to it.

“I’ve never seen it on a map before,” Kara argued, looking at the scrolls in confusion.

“Can you at least _try_ to point it out so that we know where we’re going?” Arthur urged.

“I told you,” she said, “I can easily find my way on foot. I can take you there without a doubt. However, I have no clue where it lies on these scraps!” She flipped one of the maps over, revealing yet another confusing scribble of directions underneath.

“Here,” Arthur offered, filing through the parchments until he found the one that he needed. “This map has outlined on it _all_ the trails that run through Brechffa. Do you recognize anything? A landmark or a path?”

She bit her lip and surveyed the markings, “What are these?” she asked, pointing to the green dots that were scattered around the print of the forest.

Arthur took the map and turned it so that he was looking at it upside right. He sighed and said, “Those are shrines. My father used these maps during the Purge. He was hunting down the Druids at the time.” Arthur looked disappointed at having to admit to these words.

“That one there,” Kara declared, placing her finger over one of the many markings. “I think that monument lies just south of the manor. I don’t think it’s been used in years, though.”

“Good,” Arthur huffed, utterly done with looking over maps. “We’ll leave tomorrow and you can show us the best way to advance upon it.”

Kara gave Arthur a disrespectful look. As willing as she was to help, she was not in any way compliant. Merlin looked on nervously. He could have sworn there was more meaning behind her glare.

 

 

Merlin sat with his legs crossed on his bed, reading through his magic book, Arthur’s armor polishing itself only a few paces away, next to where his sword was being sharpened. He was looking through his script to see if it told anything of immortality. He growled in frustration when he found that his text had nothing relatable to read. He tossed the book onto the floor with a loud _thump!_

Arthur smirked. “Why don’t you just ask Gaius if he has any books?” he suggested. “I’m sure you can find out about it _somewhere!”_

Merlin sighed and put his head in his hands. “Any books like that were most likely destroyed in the Great Purge,” he ranted. “I’m surprised he even managed to hold onto this one! Any books in Camelot even _remotely_ related to magic are vague and tell only of how cruel they are or how to repel them!”

“What does it matter?” Arthur huffed. “You can’t die! There doesn’t seem to be much else to it.”

Merlin hummed dejectedly, which sparked a suspicion in Arthur.

“What is it you’re trying to figure out, Merlin?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Merlin said.

“What is it?”

Merlin threw his hands in the air. “What difference does it make? It’s not like I’m going to find anything useful!” Talking about his everlasting life was getting him agitated. He hated just to _think_ about it and what it might mean for his future.

_“Merlin!”_

Merlin let out an exasperated breath. “I was trying to see if there was a way to reverse it.”

“What?” Arthur questioned, getting up from his desk and striding over to his servant.

“I don’t want it, Arthur,” Merlin murmured. “Not if it lasts forever. What sort of life would I have if I just kept on living? It would be purposeless!”

“We can’t do anything about that _now,_ Merlin,” Arthur argued. “We’re fighting in a war. If I were you, I’d be grateful that you have that advantage in these circumstances.”

Merlin huffed and looked away from him, obviously not feeling overly encouraged. Arthur wanted to say something more, try and lighten him up, but there was a knock on the door. Arthur sighed before bidding that they enter.

Leon stood in the doorway, standing with a straight back and broad shoulders like he always did, never faulty in his respects. “Sire,” he addressed his king. Arthur’s armor abruptly fell to the floor from where he had been floating several moments ago and his sword landed with a _clang!_ Leon looked at Merlin strangely for a moment, but decided to ignore it. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Leon, what is it?” Arthur asked, giving the knight a nod of welcome.

“Training starts in an hour, sire,” he informed. “You requested that we resume our schedule two days after the new laws were made.”

“Right,” Arthur said, obviously having forgotten about his own plans. “Of course! I will be present.”

Leon nodded in approval, both to Arthur and to Merlin. Then he left.

“What was that about?” Arthur asked, gesturing to the metals that were now scattered across the floor.

“Habit,” Merlin mumbled.

Arthur shook his head, thinking Merlin to be ridiculous.

 

 

Once Arthur was dressed and readied, Merlin collected his equipment and followed Arthur to the training grounds, where the knights were waiting; no doubt gossiping about Camelot’s many rumors. They stepped out into the air of early winter, their breaths puffing out in a white fog, and went to meet their friends. Merlin was nervous, to say the least. It was the first time he was confronting his friends since the laws had been change and, although they seemed to have accepted him wholeheartedly, he was wary of how they might treat him differently.

 “You’ve still got him lugging all of your stuff around, huh?” Gwaine called, as Arthur and Merlin approached the fields. Merlin _did_ have the usual stack of weapons and supplies in his arms. It had been a long time since he had properly served Arthur and he was glad for things to fall back into their usual roles. Though he often complained about how strenuous Arthur’s chores had been, he hated being cooped up in Arthur’s chambers with nothing to do while the king did his paper work even more.

“He insisted,” Arthur mumbled as he approached Gwaine.

“You finally get a break and you volunteer!” Gwaine jeered, slapping Merlin on the back.

Merlin scoffed. He put Arthur’s things on a bench before he took out Arthur’s mace and handed it to him so that they could practice.

The king and his knights went through their normal routine, using maces, axes, polearms, and the like to knock each other off their feet. Merlin simply stood to the side, admiring Arthur’s work and watching to make sure that there were no accidents. However, his peaceful on looking was interrupted when Arthur came to retrieve his sword.

Merlin passed it to him, as he was accustomed to, but Arthur stopped and held it in his hands for a moment, as if he was considering something. Then, his head snapped up and he had a very obnoxious smile plastered on his face. “Merlin!” he addressed his servant in a peculiar tone.

“What?” Merlin asked, wary of his king’s expression.

“Come here for a moment,” Arthur instructed, picking up an old, rusted training sword from a rack and walking back over to his knights.

Merlin hesitantly followed orders and approached his master.

“Here,” Arthur said, turning and thrusting the hilt into Merlin’s hands. Merlin jumped in surprise but received the weapon.

“What’s this about?” Merlin questioned as he watched Arthur square off to him. He looked to the knights for hints but they seemed to be just as confused as he was.

“Well,” Arthur said, “now that you have no limitations on your magic, you’ll be fighting at the front of the line with the rest of the knights. So, you’re going to have to learn how to use a sword.”

Merlin looked down at the sore excuse for a weapon in his hands and raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t a sword,” he stated sarcastically. “It’s a rusted piece of scrap metal.”  

“Your observation skills are impeccable,” Arthur jested.

“And I don’t _need_ a sword,” Merlin added. As the words left his mouth, he found himself looking to the other knights, wondering what they were thinking. He was still incredibly nervous.

“You don’t know that,” Arthur protested. “It may come in handy if we want to keep your powers unknown. A secret sorcerer could be an advantage, you know?”

Merlin huffed. “And that’s likely now that you’ve appointed me Camelot’s magician! Arthur, all of the five kingdoms and their allies probably know by now!” he bantered. Some of the knights laughed.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “And, if nothing convinces you, I’m also the king and I’m telling you that you must learn to fight.”

“Fine,” Merlin mumbled, “but I want a proper weapon.”

“Nonsense,” Arthur said. “All of my new knights start off with the hand-me-down blades!”

Merlin growled in agitation but stepped forward to fight.

“We square off,” Arthur said, “and then you’ll want to take an offensive position due to your agility. Be sure to keep your weapon—“

“I think I’ve watched you hack at enough dummies to know what to do,” Merlin groaned, beginning to hold his ridiculous sword as if it were a proper weapon.

“Alright,” Arthur said with a smirk. “If you’re _so_ ready, then let’s begin!”

Merlin stepped closer as Arthur did the same, both of them brandishing their weapons in preparation. Merlin looked and felt utterly improper with the oblong tool in his grasp and the circle of knights around him looked on in pity.

Arthur and Merlin circled around each other for a few moments. Then, without warning, Arthur lunged forward and swiped his blade across the air. Merlin ducked and stumbled backwards out of reach.

“Are you trying to take my head off?” Merlin shouted, somewhat taken back.

“Relax, Merlin,” Arthur teased. “It’s blunt!”

Merlin rolled his eyes and cautiously reentered their round about, trying to keep his steps aligned with Arthur’s. Once again, the king brought his sword across the air with and audible _swoosh_ and Merlin side stepped out of the way with a yelp.

“Come on, Merlin!” Arthur jeered. “We’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t parry!”

Merlin grunted in annoyance as he reapproached, utterly uncomfortable.

Arthur struck again, but Merlin held his own and their swords clashed together and they pushed off from one another with a _shing!_ Merlin huffed and blocked another blow that was aimed for his legs and swung his sword around so that he threw Arthur’s back and away from him.

“That’s it!” he heard Arthur say through heavy breaths as he lunged forwards again. Merlin dodged it and struck Arthur’s blade downwards towards the ground before stepping out of reach.

“Quit holding out!” Arthur called as they circled off again. “You have to strike!” But, before Merlin could even think about do that, Arthur’s blade was in his face again and he pushed it away with a frantic swing. Arthur saw that Merlin had no intention of switching to the offensive, due to his complete disinterest in what they were doing, and began coming after him with blow after blow, striking harder with each step, gradually pushing Merlin backwards. Merlin took hit after hit, each one jarring his bones and making him pedal back hastily. Then, with a hard downwards strike onto his blade, Arthur knocked Merlin to the ground and smiled down at him.

Arthur laughed and went to move his sword to Merlin’s chest in order to signify his victory. However, before he could, Merlin, having had enough of the abusive training, swiped his sword across the air, sliding Arthur’s aside so that he could stand. Then he launched up onto his feet as Arthur held his sword out in surprise and quickly knocked his adversary’s weapon from his hand by swinging his blade down on Arthur’s hilt, disarming him.

Arthur looked on in shock as Merlin held his sword to Arthur’s neck, declaring his victory. He smiled through his weighted breath, glaring mischievously at Arthur. They were still for a moment, Arthur’s wide eyes staring back at the victor. Then, he let out a small laugh and Merlin dropped his blade in exhaustion.

“Where did _that_ come from?” Arthur asked, wide eyed.

Merlin shrugged, still breathing heavily.

“Why did you not use magic?” Arthur asked.

Suddenly, Merlin looked appalled. “I was supposed to use magic!” he yelled in a tired voice.

“Well why wouldn’t you?” Arthur questioned.

“I thought I was meant to use swordsmanship!” Merlin cried, accusingly.

“You were!” Arthur chuckled. “Why wouldn’t you be able to aid yourself with magic? It’s not like it’s just going to _stop working_ in the middle of a battle!”

Merlin growled.

“Go on!” Arthur tested. “Pick up your sword! Use magic this time!”

But Merlin didn’t bother. Before Arthur knew it he was on the ground, having slipped on mud that had inexplicably oozed from the soil beneath his feet. The knights tried to contain their laughter and Merlin’s agitation seemed to disappear. His heart warmed at the thought of the knights joking with him as they always had.

“Alright, _Merlin!”_ Arthur called as he stumbled to his feet. “If you’re so damn _powerful_ then why not take on all the knights at once?”

The knights stopped laughing and shared a series of intrigued looks. Merlin tried to guess what they were thinking. Some of them seemed wary to go up against a sorcerer. Others looked ecstatic, particularly Gwaine.

Merlin cocked his head to the side as Arthur joined the circle of knights and they all surrounded him. “This is a bit unfair, isn’t it?” Merlin jeered, looking at his adversaries with caution. “I mean, five armed men, clad in armor, against one defenseless servant in nothing but his tattered, old clothes?”

“Defenseless,” Arthur scoffed. “You’re _hardly_ defenseless Merlin!”

Merlin shrugged.

“Do not hold back,” Arthur ordered his men, glaring mischievously at Merlin. “On me!” he called as he launched forwards, knights in tow.

Merlin spun around, Percival being the first to reach him. He slipped out of the reach of his blade and ducked another strike form Gwaine, who had a wide grin on his face. Merlin promptly stuck out his leg and tripped the enthusiast the moment he saw an opening, sending Gwaine sprawling out onto his back. When he spun back around, he found that Arthur, Mordred, and Leon had banded together and were advancing on his as a group. Merlin sighed and rolled his eyes as they stuck their swords out, jabbing at the air, finding that Merlin was always _just_ out of reach. Without even having to think about it, Merlin held out his hand and a few ancient words rolled off of his tongue, _“Bewépnian.”_ The knights were left gaping in shock as their swords were quickly drawn from their grips and ascended a few meters into the air, out of reach.

Percival and Gwaine teamed up behind him and he pivoted on his heel to face them. He quickly, with no effort at all, swiped their swords as well, sending all of the knights into a gawking scrabble of fools trying to jump for their weapons. Arthur easily gave up, having far better knowledge of Merlin’s powers than anybody else, and Mordred didn’t even bother to try. But the other trio of idiots kept leaping into the air in attempts to snatch their hilts out of the sky, while Merlin, Arthur, and Mordred sniggered on the sidelines.

“Watch this,” Merlin whispered to Arthur as his eyes shimmered with the glow of his magic. The sword Gwaine was trying for descended slightly, and the desperate knight latched onto the pommel and let out a cheer of triumph before the sword in his hands suddenly shot upward, suspending Gwaine high above the training ground, kicking his legs in fret.

Eventually, after Merlin had had his fun, Gwaine grew bored of trying to jerk his weight around in attempts to lower himself towards the ground and simply hung there from tired limbs. “Merlin,” he called, “if you don’t put me down, I’m just going to let go and you’ll be jailed for killing a knight!”

“That’s not entirely true!” Arthur hollered back. “Merlin might just get away with it! After all, he is above you now!”

Merlin looked to Arthur in surprise. “What? I am?”

Arthur shrugged but gave Merlin a knowing smile. Merlin blinked, unsure of how he was supposed to take that information.

“My arms are getting tired, Merlin!” Gwaine complained and the warlock snapped back to reality, lowering his victim back to ground. Gwaine let go the moment he was a suitable distance from the stable surface and promptly tumbled onto his knees before collapsing in an exhausted heap.

Merlin laughed once more and Arthur patted him on the back, seeing the overall scheme as a victory on his part. Merlin smiled to himself, pleased that the knights had warmed up to him so easily, having not been deterred by his newly known gifts. Though, Leon did seem quite flabbergasted by the whole ordeal, but that only made Merlin laugh harder.

As the amusing factor of the situation slowly wore off, the knights all surrounded Merlin in a congratulatory circle, patting him on the back, cracking jokes, and letting him know how welcome he was. Merlin beamed back at them, warmth returning to his heart. He smiled at Arthur, who nodded knowingly.

However, when Merlin turned away from Arthur to greet the most recent congratulator, he froze, eyes glazed over and unseeing, his expression falling flat and wide eyed.

It took a few moments before anyone realized that something was wrong. It was only once Arthur noticed the hazy look in Merlin’s eyes that anyone recognized what was happening.

“You alright, mate?” Gwaine asked him, noticing his faraway look. When Merlin didn’t answer him, he studied him questioningly. “Merlin?”

Arthur was suddenly between them, ushering Gwaine aside. “Give him room, give him room,” he urged, placing himself in front of his friend and shaking him slightly by the shoulders in an attempt to pull him out of his daze. He had the same, unaware look that he’d had the night before in the bath and Arthur’s stomached turned. These visions were coming more and more and something told Arthur that, the fact that they were seeping into Merlin’s waking hours, was not a good sign.

“Merlin?” Arthur called, trying to get his friend’s attention. “Merlin, look at me.”

But Merlin was somewhere else. He was far off in the Crystal Cave, once again watching as the earth crumbled around it, closing him in. He could feel himself running through the caverns and tunnels until the bright, blue glow of the crystals greeted him. And then all exits were cut off, solidified by matted walls of fallen rocks. But the center of the cave prevailed, still standing, crystals pulsating almost angrily. The cave could not be destroyed, but Morgana had cut it off from the outside world and it raged, pulling Merlin in, drawing him closer to the center as if it wanted him. And Merlin felt compelled to obey, even from outside the vision. He felt as if he needed to be there _now,_ be there to prevent this awful insight from becoming truth. For the first time, he felt something outside the vision, like a call, a plea for help, coming from the birthplace of all magic.

The entranced boy let out a shuddering breath that billowed visibly through the air and blinked a few times before the image of the crystals disappeared from his sight. He looked around blindly for a few moments before he found Arthur in front of him, searching his face with concern.

Suddenly self-conscious, Merlin glanced around at the knights, who were all looking on in confusion and worry. He swallowed and looked at Arthur pleadingly. Arthur caught his glance but didn’t know what to do. He knew his knights would want answers, would want to know what had just happened. So he froze, trying to come up with a diversion. However, before he could, Percival spoke.

“What was that?”

Arthur looked to him and then to his other curious knights. “It was nothing,” he said reassuringly.

Merlin let out a sigh and nervously peered back at his friends again.

“Merlin?” Gwaine prompted.

Merlin looked to Arthur, defeated, letting him know that they must tell them. Arthur nodded, allowing Merlin to answer.

“I’ve been having visions,” he said meekly.

“Visions?” Leon questioned. “Of what?”

The warlock shivered before looking out at the tree line, above the castle walls. He felt a strange urge to go there, leave Camelot, and protect the cave, despite it being impenetrable. He wanted to move. He needed to keep the magic within pleased, and it would not be so if it were cut off from the entire outside world.

“We need to go,” Merlin murmured, not really realizing that he had said anything.

Arthur looked at him questioningly. “To the cave?”

Merlin nodded, still not looking away from where the cave lied in the distance. Arthur bit his lip. “Training is over,” he announced. “I expect you all to attend the feast this evening.”

The knights all nodded, giving Merlin wary looks before they reluctantly departed.

“Merlin, are you alright?” Arthur asked, turning his friend away from the forest.

Merlin seemed surprised to have been moved. It took him a moment to understand what Arthur had said. He slowly nodded in response. “They’re getting stronger,” he told him.

Arthur nodded in understanding. “Come on,” he said, ushering Merlin back towards the castle.

“I don’t think the visions are because of what Iseldir did,” Merlin explained as they roamed the corridors.

“What do you mean?”

“I think it’s the cave, calling out for help. It can see all possible futures and it knows this outcome is likely. It’s reaching out for help. It doesn’t want to be cut off from the world, least of all because of Morgana’s tainted magic.”

“So it’s trying to warn you,” Arthur suggested, starting to understand.

“I think so,” Merlin agreed.

“Well,” Arthur said, “we set out to search for Morgana’s fortress tomorrow. Perhaps we can stop her before she even makes plans to destroy the cave.”

“Possibly,” Merlin mumbled. “We need to keep her away from it. The heart of the cave cannot be destroyed but it still does not wish to be buried alive.”

“What?” Arthur scrutinized. “You think this thing has _feelings?”_

Merlin shrugged as they wondered down into the kitchens. “It’s just as magic as I am. If not, more so. I don’t doubt that it has consciousness. What with the way it’s calling out to me. It’s scared.”

Merlin weaved out of the way of a busy cook before grabbing for their lunch dish, which was readied and prepared as always, two meals at the ready.

“Scared of what?”

“Being alone, I suppose,” Merlin mused. “It wants to be connected with the magic in the earth around it. Now that it’s communicating with me, I think it might have once been much bigger than it is now; entirely underground with the tunnels stretching and winding throughout the whole world. It’s afraid of becoming small. It needs to be open so that the magic can breathe.”

They marched back out of the stuffy cook place and continued on their way to their chambers.

“That still doesn’t answer why Morgana would want that to happen,” Arthur continued.

Merlin hummed in thought. “She might not understand the cave as well as I do. Maybe she thinks there is some advantage in destroying it.”

Arthur shrugged before opening the door to his chambers, letting Merlin carry the tray of food inside before entering himself.

“Well, we’ll be all the closer to finding out why once we find her hideaway tomorrow,” Arthur marveled as he sat down at the table beside Merlin.

Merlin nodded, content, and then began to eat.

 

 

Merlin felt marvelous throughout the rest of the day. It was strange to him how things slowly were falling into place. Him, Arthur, Gwen, the knights; they were all filing back into the rhythm of the kingdom. Things were beginning to feel normal again, a different, new normal. A better normal.

The cheeky, ridiculous smile that used to be plastered between Merlin’s cheeks during all hours of the day was slowly reclaiming its presence. It occurred to the boy that he had cried more in past few weeks than he ever had before. The emotions that overwhelmed him were now either settling down or ebbing away entirely.

Arthur was closer to Merlin now, and not because he was bound to him by inexplicable, magical forces. No, he had lived Merlin’s life first hand, seeing and feeling things exactly as they were in the boy’s mind. He walked along Merlin’s path, each step taken being placed directly on top of Merlin’s lasting mark. He had a deeper understanding of his friend now and, as the city began to settle in the aftermath of Arthur’s unfathomable apostasy, they both felt far safer around the other, opening themselves up to each other. Both Merlin and Arthur had kept their emotions bottled up for most of their lives. Arthur because he was king and had to appear strong for his people, void of weakness and faults. Merlin because he was hiding for so long that he’d tragically become accustomed to it. Though it had been unusual at first, to be so vulnerable with another person, they soon came to like it.

With so much free time to spare before the feast, Arthur even attempted to teach Merlin chess, which he surprisingly excelled at (despite being confused as to how the knights moved and what on earth “castling” was). After only two short games, Merlin was beating Arthur. The boy was far more strategic than Arthur gave him credit for and the king made a mental note to have Merlin present whenever they were mapping out battle strategies.

 

 

When the sky finally glowed red with the setting sun and the feast was fast approaching, Merlin dressed Arthur in his chainmail and himself in his cloak. Arthur had insisted that he wear it to all the large gatherings, especially official matters.

They made their way to the dining hall, lighthearted and cheerful. When they arrived, the servants were almost completely finished setting up. Merlin felt a twinge of guilt for not helping, but forced himself to shrug it off when Arthur gave him a pointed look.

The feast was a small one. Only the king, queen, knights of the round table, and Merlin were attending, a whopping seven people. Arthur sat at the head of the table, as always. Gwen was to his left and Merlin his right, with all the knights lined up along the rest of the chairs in the dining hall. Once everyone had arrived, Arthur stood and made an intriguing announcement.

“We have gathered here today,” he said, “to honor the newest member of our royal court!”

The knights all cheered and jibed for a moment before Arthur continued.

“Merlin, though deceitful, disrespectful, idiotic, reckless, useless, incompetent, and annoying as he may be . . .”

“Thanks,” Merlin said dryly.

Arthur nodded his welcome, sarcastically exaggerated. “. . . he is a honorable man and a force to be reckoned with.” There was another bout of laughter. “He has always stood by me and my knowledge of his gifts does not deter my respect for him. If anything, it has swelled immensely upon realizing all that he has sacrificed for me, for this kingdom. He is truly selfless, kind hearted, loyal, and brave. In fact, I think he is the bravest man I ever met.” Arthur looked down at his friend, smiling one of his truest smiles yet, and nodded his thanks. Merlin returned the gesture, if slightly teary eyed. Then, Arthur lifted his glass out to his companions. “To Merlin,” he cheered and all the knights were on their feet, glasses in hands. Gwen rose from her seat as well and held out her glass. “To Merlin,” they all echoed, looking down at the boy with cheerful faces.

Merlin, quite unsure as to what he should do, considering they were cheering to him, hesitantly stood, held out his cup and said softly, “To . . . to you all,” he said shyly. “Thank you.” And they all took a relishing sip of some of the finest wine from Camelot’s cellar.

Merlin grimaced as he sat back down, rubbing his tongue along the front of his teeth, making his upper lip bulge out.

“What is it?” Arthur questioned, noticing the discomfort of his friend’s face.

“Nothing,” Merlin said, smacking his lips. “I’ve just . . . never had wine before.”

Arthur barked out a laugh and clapped him on the back. Merlin smiled and, without even realizing it, took another sip of the bitter drink. The moment he realized that he had absent mindedly brought the unfruitful tangy taste to his tongue, he hastily swallowed it in an audible gulp, not wanting to taste it for a moment longer. His throat stung and he let out a restrained cough and Arthur sniggered once more.

“Come on,” Gwaine said from his right, “it’s more about the feeling than the taste.” He leaned in closer and spoke in a hush so that Arthur couldn’t hear. “You _know_ Arthur must be happy. He’s brought out some of the _best_ wine in the castle. I wouldn’t doubt it if he told me it’d been fermenting in a cask for centuries!”

Merlin swallowed. He knew the expenses of wine and how valued it was when aged. He looked down at his cup, thinking how the drink before him might have even cost more than his house back in Ealdor. He looked sheepishly back at Arthur before taking another sip, not wanting the gesture _or_ the expensive beverage to go to waste.

The night went on and jokes were passed around the table, each story inspiring someone else to tell a tall tale of their own as if they were a convention of enthusiastic troubadours. Arthur knew a great deal of the stories, most of them being about Merlin. Gwaine told one about the dwarf that had greeted Merlin and himself at a bridge whilst they were searching out Arthur to stop Morgana’s instigations from bringing upon the end of him. When he was finished he made a few striking comments.

“The little thing said we needed courage, strength, and magic to complete the quest, but Arthur and I were too _blind_ to see that it was Merlin who bore the third title of our party,” the knight laughed. Arthur rolled his eyes jokingly and Gwaine gave him a strange look. “What about you, _courage?_ You don’t seem very surprised to know that you’d been sabotaged on your kingly quest!”

Arthur huffed. “What of it?”

Gwaine squinted at him. “Come now! What aren’t you telling us?” He spoke light heartedly but it was definite that he truly did want answers from the king.

And from the looks of those around him, so did the knights. “I already knew,” he said under his breath.

“Rubbish,” Percival murmured.

Gwaine smirked. “Come on! Tell us the _real_ reason why you and Merlin are glued at the hips from now on. I don’t buy this whole spell situation for one second!”

While Arthur was thinking of a retort, Merlin pursed his lips and said, “Technically it is true.”

Arthur nodded and agreement. “See! There you have it! Just a spell gone wrong!”

“Yes, but there’s something else,” Gwaine mused, rubbing his hands down his scruffy jaw.

“Perhaps,” Arthur admitted, “but who is to say that it is your business?”

Gwaine’s mouth was already open, ready to spill whatever excuses he had into the open air, when Merlin spoke, too intoxicated to catch himself. “You made it Mordred’s business,” he slurred, sounding almost put off by the fact.

Arthur was already beginning to regret allowing Merlin to have a fourth glass of wine. The lad didn’t seem enjoy the beverage in the slightest upon first taste, but as he forced himself to drink more, and after Gwaine refilled his goblet without asking, making Merlin feel obligated to drink a second glass, he became more and more accustomed to it. Arthur wondered if he could even taste _anything_ anymore, what with the way he lifted his glass after the statement and gulped down a few more sips of the tarty wine, peering over the rim of his chalice to watch for the knights reactions.

Whilst the other knights looked a bit puzzled and Mordred wore a guilty expression, Gwaine looked to Arthur, mouth gaping in faux offense. “You told the youngest of your knights but not the rest of your dearest friends,” he accused drunkenly, probably having been the only one who had drank more than Merlin. “Besides,” Gwaine continued, “you forget, I was _there._ Mordred and I had to pry your bloody bodies apart when we found you in the dungeon and something about the ominous glow that surrounded the two of you tells me than it was more than just some magical mishap!”

“What _did_ happen, sire?” Leon asked, eyed his king.

Arthur really wished Merlin was either sane or aware enough to be the one to tell the tale, but he was neither of those things so the king let out a heavy breath and took a sip of his own drink before explaining.

“The sorceress did not torture Merlin,” Arthur confessed. “However, she did bind us together using a spell. Only she was inexperienced and performed it wrong, deeming it irreversible. The only reason she even fled was because she feared that she had doomed us upon realizing that she could not stop what she had caused. If you and Mordred had not torn us apart, then we surely would have been stuck like that until we wasted away to nothing!”

“Why did she bind you?” Percival questioned.

Another sigh escaped Arthur’s lips and he readied himself to continue. “Her purpose was not to obtain information on Camelot. It was for me to obtain information on Merlin. She felt that it was her duty to reveal Merlin to me as who he really was. The Druids look up to Merlin and, though she unwittingly practiced _false_ Druidism, she thought that Merlin was in need of credit for all that he’d done for Albion.” Arthur looked over to Merlin, who was leaning forward with wide eyes and clutching onto his drink with both hands as if he were hearing the story for a first time. “Which he was,” Arthur added, smiling at his friend.

“She went about this by binding our souls together. I was forced to enter Merlin’s mind and experience his entire life first hand, though it’s a bit out of order when I look back on it.”

“Wait,” Leon interrupted. “You’ve lived through _every single_ event in Merlin’s life?”

Arthur nodded. “I lived them, saw them, felt them. I could even hear his thoughts and feel both his emotions as well as physical touch. It were as if I was him. Only, the poor witch didn’t know how to top it so I kept living his life over and over again until you two broke us up. Gaius said that our souls were _intertwined_ and that by separating us, you ripped our souls in half, effectively placing part of my soul within Merlin and part of his soul within me.”

“So, why can you not separate exactly?” Gwaine asked, slightly confused.

“Gaius said tha— _hic!”_ Merlin started.

Arthur interjected, deeming Merlin not sober enough to explain. “Gaius said that, if two halves of a soul are taken apart, it would cause immense pain.”

“The souls try to return to their counterpar—erm, other half,” Merlin stammered, not feeling up to par for using large words. “The souls stretch and tear at your body to try and reunite with the rest of themselves.” Merlin stopped and sniffled, trying to clear his head to no avail. “They press against your skull and your ribs and scratch at your skin, trying to break through bone, muscle, and flesh to become whole again. But we can’t let them because a soul without a body is lost and we have no way to mend what has been broken.” Merlin swallowed and stared down into the reflection of his drink. Though his words were slurred and he may not remember them in the morning, they were spoken gravely and somber.

The knights and the queen all looked at him and then to Arthur, whose eyes were transfixed on Merlin as he glared into his own eyes within his cup. The king tried to ignore the pitiful looks of worry that were directed at him and instead took another sip of his drink before clearing his throat and saying, “Well then. I think that’s enough of that. Percival! Do you have any wise tales from before you came to Camelot?”

Percival took the hint and began telling recalling a memory from when he was younger and having fallen into a stream. It was a humorous one and, when Merlin heard of how the knight had shivered whilst an old hermit woman that smelt strangely of gaia berries walked him through the cold only to bring him to a cave infested with wilddeoren, his drink dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin as he struggled to suppress a soggy, drunken laugh. The fuss he made caused the mood to return its original cheery demeanor and for that Arthur was thankful.

The servants stopped filling Merlin’s goblet after the seventh cup and the servant was quite perturbed by the lack of bitter sweet juice in his mug. So, deciding that it was perfect acceptable because he _was_ still a servant to some extent, he leaned forward to grab one of the pitchers off the table himself, only for his cloak to snag on his neck, having been tucked under his own bottom. Merlin, left groping at the air, just out of reach of the pitcher, became a mess of tipsy frustration, trying desperately to unhook his cloak but entirely lacking the coordination to do so.

Gwen noticed his struggles as Merlin resorted to trying to just tug the cloak off over his head. She got to her feet and scrutinized Arthur for not helping him whilst she unbuckled the poor boy’s accessory and draped it over the back of his chair.

However, Merlin’s grievances did not end there. The moment he was free he stuck his arm out for the wine pitcher, only to knock it further out of reach, causing the drink to slosh over the brim of the container. Merlin growled quite uncharacteristically and stood to grab it. Succeeding, he brought it to his cup and poured as much as he could into his goblet, spilling a great deal of the beverage over the side.

“Merlin,” Arthur warned, “I think you’ve had enough.”

Merlin snorted and swallowed down three large mouthfuls of the intoxicating liquid, much of it seeping out through the corners of his mouth.

Gwaine, however, encouraged this, claiming that Arthur was simply trying to deprive the man of any enjoyment whatsoever. Merlin nodded heavily in agreement, seeming to have lost the comprehension for words in his current mental state.

It was then that the knights began to tease Merlin, joking and jesting on and on about how special he was or how useless he was or how they had all _obviously known_ about his magic _all along_ and just didn’t bother to tell him. A tipsy Merlin seemed to believe it for a fraction of a second before he too was laughing along.

Merlin began to seek out a ninth pint of wine but all the servants refused to approach him and had removed all pitchers from the table under the king’s orders. Gwen chuckled as Merlin seemed eager to _discreetly_ swap his and Arthur’s glasses, despite it being incredibly obvious, what with the way he kept glaring at Arthur as if he would swat his hand away. Arthur was entirely aware of this happening, of course, and he watched with amusement as Merlin seemed to put unfathomable effort into slowly reaching his hand out to his master’s cup, his own mug held up in his other hand, ready to be set up as a decoy. Arthur waited until Merlin’s fingertips brushed upon his drink only to take up his glass and gulp the rest down, finishing it off.

Merlin looked shocked to say the least. He peered up at Arthur with wide, innocent eyes, as if it were completely inconceivable that he had been caught. Then he frowned upon seeing Arthur smirking down at him, a triumphant look on his face, before leaning back in his chair and pouting, glaring at Arthur all the while.

“Oh Merlin,” Gwaine sung, making sure the rest of the party could hear him. “Why bother with him? Couldn’t you just conjure up your own wine with a bit of magic? I bet it’d taste even better than this old stuff!” The knight chortled and smiled up to the disapproving face of his king.

“Gwaine!” Arthur growled before eyeing Merlin cautiously.

The boy had hunched over upon hearing the knight’s suggestion and stared at his goblet with great intensity whilst biting down on his lip in concentration. For a moment, everyone present thought that nothing would happen. Perhaps Merlin could not efficiently preform spells when his head was as muddled as it was. But, to their dismay, the boy’s eyes lit up and the goblet began to fill with wine. However, only a small few drops had been conjured before the cup inexplicitly flew up and off the table, crashing into the wall on the opposite side of the room, dousing a nearby servant with what little wine he had created. It appeared Merlin was not in as much control over his magic as he thought.  

Gwaine immediately burst into a fit of laughs while Arthur glared daggers at him. The other knights were suppressing their amusement when Merlin’s eye’s flashed again and the cup flew out of the servant’s hands and back towards the table, hitting Leon on the back of the head as it made its way back into Merlin’s grasp.

The warlock frowned into his mug when he realized that the wine he had created had _somehow_ been removed from its proper place. He narrowed his eyes up at the servant who had retrieved it from the floor, blame written on his face as if he thought that she had deliberately deprived him of his beverage.

Merlin was prevented from any further drinking as the night grew old and he began to appear drowsy, nodding off towards sleep. Arthur smiled as he saw the boy sitting in a fairly awkward position; back slumped against the chair, rump hanging off the front of the seat, and his chin pressed into his chest, seemingly having lost the effort to pick his head back up. However, after a few moments, Arthur noticed that Merlin had shifted, his eyes wide and his neck craned so that he was looking behind him, cheek pressed against the back of his chair.

“Merlin?” Arthur questioned, noticing the way his servant seemed utterly oblivious to the festivities going on around him.

Gwen and Gwaine noticed the king’s concern and both looked to the boy questioningly.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked again, looking into Merlin’s void eyes. After a few seconds, Arthur realized that Merlin was shaking slightly and breathing hard. “Merlin?” he said more urgently, tapping his friend on the shoulder. It took several tries to rouse the boy, but eventually he let out a small gasp.

Merlin’s attention did not return to the feast, however. Instead, he stretched out his neck and tried even harder to look behind him, eyes wide and curious.

“Merlin? What is it?” Arthur urged, trying to break whatever trance he was in. By then, all the knights had their eyes on the boy, worried that he might be experiencing whatever had happened to him at training all over again.

“Was it another vision, Merlin?” Arthur asked calmly, not wanting to upset a drunk and powerful warlock.

Merlin’s mouth opened, but he did not speak. He simply gawked at whatever he was trying to look at.

“Merlin,” Gwaine pestered, “what do you see?”

Merlin smacked his lips and answered, still not looking away from the wall behind him. “Caves,” he murmured in a deep, raspy voice, barely audible.  

“Merlin, look at me,” Arthur ordered.

Merlin turned his head but kept his eyes planted in the direction of the cave.

“Look at me,” Arthur said again, shaking Merlin’s shoulder slightly.

The boy finally did as was asked and looked at Arthur with glazed, blue eyes. The vision had not sobered him whatsoever. Instead, it left him dazed and confused, to be pitied on by the friends around him.

After a hushed conversation between the hazy minded sorcerer and the concerned king, Arthur thanked everyone for attending and assured that Merlin would be fine. Few questions were asked as people congratulated Merlin on his position and left with sweet but wary farewells.

 

 

Gwen assisted Arthur in dragging Merlin along back to their chambers. The boy could barely walk with how utterly sloshed he was. His feet dragged along the floor more than they actually took any steps, though he did seem to _try_ and imitate the motion of walking to no avail.

The queen held the door open before Arthur lugged Merlin inside, placing him on his bed and taking off his jacket and neckerchief. Gwen folded his cloak, which she had brought, and his clothes as Arthur handed them to her. While Gwen put his garments away, Arthur began unbuckling Merlin’s boots when the boy spoke.

“It’s terrified,” Merlin whispered in a hoarse voice. “We need to go.”

“We are going, Merlin,” Arthur assured. “We’re going to find out what Morgana is doing tomorrow and then these visions will stop.” Arthur hoped that he was right. He couldn’t stand Merlin being so lost. And now, when he was dazed and scared, it made his heart clench. “Alright?”

Merlin nodded slowly. Then, Arthur guided him into his bed and watched as he fell asleep. He looked to Gwen warily. “They’re getting too frequent,” he commented.

Gwen bit her lip and eyed Merlin’s exhausted form on the bed. “I think you should bring it Gaius. Perhaps he has something that can stop the visions.”

Arthur shook his head. “Merlin doesn’t seem to think so.” He took a breath and seemed to mull it over for a moment. “Tell Gaius to come here in the morning, please, Guinevere.”

Gwen nodded. “Of course.” She said, stepping forward to kiss her husband. She then left with one last glance towards her poor friend.

That left Arthur alone with the slumbering invalid. He sighed and looked Merlin over, wondering how someone as powerful as he was could be so clumsy and foolish. The boy had the strength to tear down kingdoms and yet he couldn’t stomach a few glasses of wine. Arthur smiled at this and went to sleep hoping that this would all be over soon.


	9. Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's visions are getting worse as their time of coming to pass nears.

“You really shouldn’t drink, Merlin,” Gaius scolded as he handed his patient a remedy for hangovers. “I’ve told you that more than enough times.”

Merlin blinked hard, keeping his eyes scrunched up for a few seconds against the morning light, then fluttered his lashes, trying to blink away the crust about his eyes. He took the remedy from Gaius and gulped it down before suppressing a gag. The boy had been confused when he woke to find the physician hovering over him, his mind having only recently been recovered from drowning in wine.

“You said they’ve been happening more frequently?” Gaius questioned, turning to Arthur, who was pacing only a small ways away.

“He had two yesterday,” Arthur agreed. “He might have had one last night as well. He started muttering in his sleep, but _I_ couldn’t understand him.”

Gaius nodded and turned back to the boy in question. “Do you remember anything from last night, Merlin?”

Merlin groaned and brought a hand to his head. Then he answered in an airy voice. “Yeah. We just told jokes and ate and . . . I don’t really remember the specifics,” he admitted.

“So,” Arthur said, “you _don’t_ remember either of the visions from last night?”

 _“Either?”_ Merlin questioned. “I had _two?”_

Arthur bit his lip and continued with his pacing.

“Merlin,” Gaius brought the boys attention back, “when you have these visions, is it always the same thing?”

“Mostly,” Merlin answered. “The first one I was watching it through Morgana’s eyes, but most of them I think are from the cave’s, if that makes any sense. Then, yesterday, I think it was me running.”

Gaius hummed.

“Is there any way you can stop them?” Arthur asked, halting between them.

Gaius shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sire. These are far different from the visions of a seer. They are coming directly from an outside force. They cannot be stopped by a mere tonic or sleeping draught, especially if they have started happening whilst he is awake.”

Both Merlin and Arthur let out a long sigh.

“I believe that the only thing that will stop these visions is the ensured safety of the cave,” Gaius admitted.

“Well,” Merlin said groggily, “at least we’ll have done that soon.”

Gaius nodded. “Indeed.”

 

 

“It is going to be a small exhibition,” Arthur said, laying out the map with the shrines out on a table. His knights all surrounded him and Kara was in the back of the room, behind Mordred. “I will take a knight, Kara, and Merlin to Morgana’s fortress to try and spy on what they are doing, get an idea on what their plans are. Mordred?”

“Yes, sire?”

“Would you like to volunteer?”

Mordred looked behind him at his childhood friend. She smiled at him before he faced his king and agreed. “I would be honored, milord.”

“Good,” Arthur said. “It’s settled then. The rest of you, should we not return within a week’s time without word, come looking for us along these paths.” Arthur leaned over the map and gestured to the paths running along and near the shrine where they were headed. “Her fort is set up somewhere near _this_ monument, where we will set up camp.”

“Sire,” Merlin interrupted, stepping forward.

Arthur looked at him expectantly.

“We cannot bring our weapons onto sacred ground,” Merlin advised. “Perhaps it would be wise to set up camp someplace else.”

Arthur mulled it over. “You’re right, Merlin.” He pulled the map closer and pointed to an area between the path and the shrine. “We’ll make camp here. I believe that there is a small clearing there that should suffice.”

Merlin nodded in agreement.

“Is the plan understood?” Arthur asked. The knights gave their input, which was all in the positive. “Alright, then, we set out at midday.”

The knights were all dismissed. A few of them lingered to let Merlin know of his job well done and Gwaine even asked him how he was before leaving. Mordred was ordered to take Kara back to her chambers and eventually, the king and his advisor were left alone in the small planning room.

“Arthur,” Merlin hissed, “do you think it is wise to take Mordred?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?” Merlin asked, voice grave. “Of all the capable knights, why would we choose him when he’s—?”

“Mordred is close to Kara,” Arthur interrupted. “If we bring him, he would be the most capable of keeping her in check.”

“Not if Kara’s the one doing the keeping,” Merlin muttered.

“Despite your prophecies _Merlin,”_ Arthur said, “I think that Mordred will remain loyal so long as we keep an eye on him. If he knows of out mistrust than he may begin to think that we are against him.”

Merlin looked like he was about to argue further but seemed inclined to agree.

 

 

Arthur and Merlin spent their morning preparing for their journey south. Merlin clad his master in chainmail and packed him and himself clothes whilst bickering and making small talk. Then, they went to pack food. They didn’t bring much because they expected to hunt while they were there so there would be little need. Merlin led Arthur to the stables where he saddled their horses.

Merlin stroked his horse’s mane as he made sure her bit was comfortable, like she liked it. Arthur rolled his eyes as Merlin’s newly acquired understanding of the animals and made a snide comment about how _girly_ it was.

It was wile Merlin was saddling Arthur’s horse however, that he suddenly paused, one hand gripping the reins and the other resting on top of the saddle, where he had been adjusting it, as if he were frozen in time.

“Merlin!” Arthur called, dodging around the horse. It had begun to whine and whinny at the warlock, nodding it’s head in agitation, alerting Arthur that there was something wrong. The king grabbed Merlin’s shoulders and spun him around, tearing his dominant hand away from the saddle, his left hand still loosely hung about the reins. “Look at me, Merlin. It’s not real,” Arthur said calmly. It struck him how accustomed he’d come to pulling Merlin out of his visions, drawing him out with his familiar voice and earthly touch.

It worked, eventually, like it always did, and Merlin slowly came back to reality. He took a few deep breaths before looking back at Arthur, his brow furrowed.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Anything new?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head. “Just more running,” he confided. “Only, this time, I made it to the center of the cave and saw the crystals. I stopped for some reason and then . . . something _pushed_ me.”

Arthur looked at Merlin curiously, wondering what on earth these mixed up visions could possibly mean. He sighed, not having a clue, and bid that they meet Mordred and Kara in the courtyard.

They waited there, in the cool, winter breeze, Merlin struggling to keep four excited horses in place and Arthur standing uselessly beside him. It was only a few moments before Mordred could be seen escorting the Druid girl from the palace. However, the moment they appeared, a large, black raven flew out over the crowd of people in the square. Merlin’s eyes followed it. His stomach turned at the sight of the bird, an uneasy feeling seeming to emanate off of it.

Arthur, at first thinking that Merlin might have slipped into another vision, warily stepped forward. “Merlin?”

Merlin ignored him, looking back to where the bird had come from as if it would give him an explanation to his worries.

“Merlin, what is it?” Arthur asked again.

This time, Merlin turned to him. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just, that _bird._ It seemed like it didn’t want to be seen and . . . there was an _urgency_ about it.” The warlock bit his lip in suspicion.

Arthur scoffed and patted Merlin on the shoulder. “Only you, _Merlin,”_ he said, “could get this broken up about a _bird_ not liking you.”

Merlin huffed and a ghost of a smile was forced onto his lips to compensate Arthur’s jest. However, he did not take the matter so lightly. His instincts told him that there was something more about what had just happened and, as Mordred and the Druid girl greeted them by the horses, the look in Kara’s eyes made him think that _she_ had something to do with it.

 

 

The foursome traveled hard for a few good hours to get a start on their short journey south. After a while however, they slowed their pace, needing to pay attention to where they were headed in order to find the shrine they sought after.

Merlin didn’t seem to take his eyes off of Kara the whole ride, constantly glancing back at her and Mordred anxiously. Arthur was getting sick of it. Though he knew of the prophecies and their supposed inevitability, he couldn’t help but think Merlin to be a _bit_ paranoid. Arthur at least had hope that Mordred would not succumb to his fate, whilst Merlin could not be deterred from it.

“Do you have a fascination for lovebirds as well as ravens?” Arthur asked in a mocking tone, keeping his voice low so that the other half of their company couldn’t hear.

“What?” Merlin asked, tearing his gaze away from the suspicious pair behind him.

“You’ve been gawking at them all day,” Arthur commented. Just as he did so, Merlin cast his eyes _back_ towards the people in question. “If you don’t stop looking at them and start watching where you’re going, your horse is going to walk right into that crater!”

Merlin jumped and spun around, somewhat expecting there to be a massive dip in the road. He growled at Arthur’s prank when he realized that, in reality, there was nothing there.

“We have to keep an eye on them,” Merlin insisted. “Kara cannot be trusted and Mordred trusts her too much! It’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Relax Merlin,” Arthur suggested. “Think of it as a test to see where Mordred’s loyalties lie. _If_ Kara tempts him to do something unjust, we will know that he has already been led astray and that the prophecies are all true.”

 _“And_ he will betray us whilst we try to spy on Morgana,” Merlin sneered, peering back at the couple once more.

Arthur sighed. “I have faith in him,” he said. “I think he may be able to resist the path that destiny as laid out for him.”

“That’s the thing you don’t understand, Arthur,” Merlin said, exasperated. “Destiny and fate are not the same. Fate is consequence, _destiny_ is law. You cannot escape destiny. It will always find a way to weave its way into your life, no matter how hard you try to avoid it.” Merlin clicked his tongue and urged his mare forward, passing Arthur and trotting steadily ahead.

Arthur huffed humorlessly. Part of him wanted Merlin to be wrong. But another part of him knew that he was right.

 

 

The trip was more or less uninterrupted, until Merlin unceremoniously slid from his saddle and landed on the ground with a thump.

Arthur was off of his horse in a second, leaping over to calm Merlin’s frantic mare. When he was sure that the horse was far enough away, he knelt down by Merlin, lifting him by his shoulders and into a sitting position.

Merlin was staring ahead, eyes wide, and jittering slightly. Arthur looked him in the eyes. “Merlin,” he said sternly, trying to ease his friend out of the vision.

Merlin put everything he had in trying to latch onto Arthur’s voice and take him away from the trance he was in, but, instead, Arthur’s voice seemed to trigger another scene to play out before him. He felt sick as the images before him twisted and changed until he was no longer outside of the cave, where he had been watching through Morgana’s eyes, but inside, within his own body, looking at a worried Arthur. “Merlin,” he breathed, brow furrowed and an unreadable expression in his eyes.

Merlin gasped as he was brought back to the present, clutching onto Arthur’s arms and struggling to calm his breathing. He looked up to see the worried face of his king and Mordred. He gulped down any remaining panic that he had and nodded to Arthur. Then, he saw Kara standing behind them, a curious gleam in her eye. He quickly looked away and urged Arthur to help him up.

Once he was on his feet, Arthur asked, “Any change?”

Merlin nodded, but did not answer, eyeing Kara cautiously.

“Sire?” Mordred spoke suddenly. “What just happened?”

“Visions,” Merlin spat before Arthur could answer, not wanting to deal with the knight’s irritating inquiry.

Arthur sighed and ordered that they move on, a pit of worry in his stomach forming as he mounted his horse.

Once they had ridden for a few paces, Arthur rode close to Merlin so that they could discuss matters. “What did you see?”

“That time it was you, saying my name. We were in the mouth of the cave,” Merlin explained, not meeting his master’s gaze.

“They’re becoming too frequent and you know it,” Arthur mentioned hesitantly.

“Yeah, well,” Merlin huffed, obviously agitated by it all, “there’s not much we can do about it, now is there?”

Arthur sighed and let the conversation drop, deeming argument to be pointless.

 

 

They found the shrine easily enough. It was marked by Druidic symbols and tapestries, though most were worn or left behind nothing but a few strangling threads.

“We’ll set up camp to the west of here, by the clearing,” Arthur ordered, turning away from the monument before him.

They did as such, laying out bedrolls and collecting firewood. Merlin lit the flames before he followed Arthur a short whiles away to hunt for dinner. Merlin was unusually quiet for being on a hunt, given how he usually tripped over himself and made more noise than Arthur would think possible. Perhaps it was the seriousness of the situation, or the fact that they needed food for strength on their mission. Either way, Merlin simply sulked behind Arthur, obediently lugging around a cluster of arrows.

“You’re quiet,” Arthur commented as he stalked through the wooded area.

“Sorry,” Merlin said dryly.

“Well,” Arthur scoffed, “you’re usually talking my ear off about how cold it is or how long we’ve been out.”

“If you want, I can bicker all you want. Thought you might like some peace and quiet while hunting for once,” the servant responded.

“You’d think so,” Arthur murmured, more to himself than to Merlin. His silence bothered him. He knew there was a great deal weighing on Merlin. He wondered if banter or any sort of fun could lighten his load.

“Arthur,” Merlin hissed, bringing the king out of his musing.

Arthur stopped, “What?”

“There.” Merlin pointed. Sure enough, feasting on a patch of grass was a magnificent hart.

It was a cumbersome deer, fully grown. Merlin thought that, even if he were his old self, trying to deter Arthur from hunting, _he_ may even congratulate Arthur on such a brilliant game. It wasn’t doe. It could not be a mother. It was not a fawn. It was old, strong, and bountiful. It would feed the four of them for weeks, if it came to that. Its life was well lived and no more animals’ lives would be lost upon its death. This is what Merlin thought that Arthur should be hunting.

“Kill it,” Merlin told him, crouching down next to his king, not looking away from the marvelous beast.

But Arthur lowered his bow and looked at Merlin strangely. Never had he heard the boy tell him to take the life of something so innocent. “What?” Arthur questioned, barely audible.

Merlin looked at him, incredulously. “Kill it,” Merlin spat in a raspy hush.

Arthur put his bow down. “No,” he refused, a bit too loudly. The hart’s head shot up, brandishing mighty antlers and a startled expression.

Merlin bit his lip as their potential meal started and turned to flee. “Arthur!” he growled. When Arthur made no move to shoot the beast, Merlin pushed him down onto his side, and stood in his place; hand outstretched, and said, _“Gebrocian!”_ The hart’s neck twisted sharply, before the game fell to the ground with a sickening crunch.

Merlin glared down at Arthur before he marched forwards to retrieve the dead animal. Arthur looked on woefully as his friend struggled to drag the body from where it laid, a dark look in his eyes.

“Merlin,” Arthur called out, sounding defeated.

“What?” Merlin sneered as he tried to bring the hart’s front legs over his shoulder to no avail.

“You killed it,” Arthur said simply in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Merlin grunted under the weight of the beast, “not like you did.”

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed again, stepping forward. “Are you alright?”

“Yes!” Merlin snarled, bent under the limp form of their prey.

Arthur looked down at him and Merlin forced himself to look up into his eyes. The king winced. There was so much to be seen behind the mask of blue, so much loss, so much hope, so much _frustration._ And the emotions _swam_ within him and it almost looked _painful_ the way they darted around, fighting for control. Merlin wanted _so much_ for everything to be okay, for their plans to put an end to Morgana’s treachery. So, he forced himself to hope that everything would turn out but his other, more logical emotions got the best of him, suppressing that hope, crushing it. His fear, his sorrow, his loneliness, all battled his optimism with a dreadful vigor and Arthur wanted nothing more than to reach inside his friend and tear those feeling away. But he couldn’t, and Merlin’s will to believe that all would end peacefully was fighting a losing battle.

But then, all of those emotions were suddenly gone and Merlin’s eyes went blank, still wide and staring. But they weren’t staring at Arthur any more. No, they were staring past him. Merlin was having another vision.

“Dammit, Merlin,” Arthur murmured, pushing the hart off of his servants back as they both dropped to their knees. Trying to hold him still and stop his shaking, Arthur held either of Merlin’s arms clamped to his sides. “Hold on, Merlin,” he soothed as the boy’s shaking hands subconsciously came out to grip onto Arthur’s arms for support.

“Run,” Merlin said quietly, barely even parting his lips. Then, for a few fleeting moments, Merlin’s convulsions turned from jitters to jerks and his breath came more quickly until he finally gasped and blinked away the emptiness in his eyes.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked attentively, letting his hold on him slacken.

Merlin’s brow furrowed and he sagged out of Arthur’s arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, sadness seeping out through his words.

“It’s alright,” Arthur amended, leaning over to try and catch Merlin’s gaze.

Face scrunched up in desperation, Merlin tried to explain himself. “It’s just . . . the prophecies and the visions make it all seem so impossible,” he croaked, meeting Arthur’s eyes with his glassy ones. He gapped for a few moments, not sure of what to say. “I feel as though, every time we find a way out, _something_ goes wrong!” He let out a shuddering breath before he clambered to his feet.

Arthur followed him, placing a comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “I know,” he admitted, “but giving up is not an option. We _will_ find a way out of all this. I promise.”

Merlin smiled and empty smile and nodded his thanks. “It’s getting late,” he pointed out, looking up at the reddening sky above. “We better get back.”

“Here,” Arthur said, griping one of the deer’s legs and hoisting the animal up off the ground. He held it out and Merlin pulled the other leg over his shoulder. “Let’s go,” Arthur said, and they carried the beast back together.

 

 

Mordred and Kara were taken aback by the enormous hart that Merlin and Arthur were able to take back as game. The deer was butchered, salted, and preserved, all by Merlin, before he too cooked their dinner and dished it out with plenty to spare. They were truly lucky in this endeavor and the warlock tried so hard to latch on to that idea and it _worked_ for a short while.

“Do you think they’re _together?”_ Arthur asked quietly as he sat down next to Merlin on the log. He peered over the fire at the two Druids who were in a hushed, private conversation, sitting a bit closer than two normally would.

“Hmm?” Merlin hummed, having been gazing absentmindedly into the fire.

“Mordred and Kara,” Arthur clarified, nodding to the people in question.

“What?” Merlin scoffed. “I don’t know. Why?”

“Well, look at how they look at each other,” Arthur insisted.

Merlin rolled his eyes and studied the pair of them discreetly. “I really don’t think it matters,” he huffed, stoking the fire with a stray branch.

“C’mon,” Arthur urged, nudging Merlin in the shoulder. “Aren’t you at least a bit curious?”

“No,” Merlin denied. “I honestly want nothing to do with them.”

“I don’t buy it,” Arthur teased. “You must want to know, just a little.”

“No I . . .” Merlin trailed off, eyes fixed on the flames as they seemed to warp and change before him. The bright, brilliant reds and golds turned into vibrant blues and greys. The world around him disappeared and was replaced with darkness, the only light being that of the crystals around him. Again he heard the ragged breathing of two individuals. This time, one of them was close, sounding off through the mouth of whoever he was looking through. The other was in the distance, and he turned to it, seeing himself, neck craned to the side, lost in one of the crystals blinding light, unable to tear his eyes away.

With a gasp and a sputter, Merlin found the fire again, along with Arthur’s face, looming over him, concerned. It seemed that the king was having trouble keeping Mordred and Kara at bay and Merlin was thankful that he managed to prevent them from coming to his aid. Despite his optimism, he knew their presence would only put Merlin on edge, and that was the last thing he needed after a vision.

Merlin realized that he was gripping onto the splintering bark of the log and released his tight hold on it, allowing himself to go lax and take a few deep breaths.

“Arthur,” Mordred said, “what’s happening to Merlin?”

“Nothing,” Merlin rasped, looking away from him and the Druid girl.

Arthur sighed. “Just leave him be, Mordred. Please.”

Hesitantly, Mordred nodded and brought Kara back to her place by the fire.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, crouching down in front of him, “what happened?”

Merlin shook his head. “We have to stop this,” he said through heavy breath.

“What did you see?”

Shaking, scared, and anxious, Merlin responded; “I was having visions in the cave—from the crystals! I can’t get trapped in their Arthur. We _need_ to stop Morgana!”

“We will,” Arthur said, trying desperately to calm Merlin down. “We will, we will. We’re close, Merlin. Remember that.”

The boy’s face scrunched up in despair and he hastily brought his hand up to his eyes to rid them of moisture. He began to breath slower, very gradually, and Arthur guided Merlin away from his seat and to his bedroll.

“I think it’s best you get some rest,” Arthur suggested.

Merlin did not protest, instead lying down on the roll and falling into a restless sleep.

“Sire,” Mordred confronted, “Merlin needs help.”

“No,” Arthur refused, bating away his knight’s outstretched hand. “We’ve already been to Gaius. There’s nothing you can do for him and he doesn’t wish for you to get involved.”

Looking slightly offended, Mordred obliged and he and Kara retired, leaving Arthur to take first watch.

 

 

Shaking violently and struggling to gulp down air, Merlin woke from a fretful vision, doused in sweat and throat dry. The sight before him was blurred but he could make out the fuzzy figure of someone standing over him.

“Arthur,” he breathed, trying to get his barring on what was going on around him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he held onto its wrist with one hand, whilst groping at the grass around him with the other.

He tried to steady his breathing, but then he heard a voice. “Merlin, what’s wrong?”

Merlin blinked, frantically trying to clear his vision. That was not Arthur’s familiar tone but he was too fazed to place it. When he finally blinked away the remaining blur, he was met with the sight of Mordred kneeling over him.

Smacking his hand away, Merlin hissed and clambered into a sitting position. He sat there, staring at Mordred in a tense silence as he attempted to compose himself.

“Why do you hate me?” Mordred questioned after a few strained moments, looking at Merlin with a strange sense of remorse.

Merlin didn’t answer at first. He just looked at Mordred, swallowed, and said, “I don’t _hate_ you, Mordred.”

“But you do not trust me,” Mordred said. “Why? What have I done to you?”

Merlin sighed. “Nothing, Mordred. I’m sorry but . . . I’ve been _told_ things that not even I quite understand yet and they make me _mistrust_ people. I hope that you can understand that I have no quarry with you.”

Mordred looked as if he were about to reply, when another booming voice sung out from nearer to the fire. “Mordred,” came Arthur’s call as he rushed over to them, having just woken up. Eyeing Merlin he asked, “what happened?”

Merlin put a hand to his head. “Another vision.”

“Go wake Kara, Mordred. I’ll handle this,” was Arthur’s decree. He helped Merlin to his feet as Mordred followed orders before they all sat around the fire for a breakfast stew.

 

 

“There’s an abandoned entrance on the southwest side of the manor. That entire tower should be vacant,” Kara explained as they stalked around the perimeter of the surrounding forest. “But, it’s entirely overrun with a mold infestation so we’d have to be quick to get through. Then, I _think_ that the tower should lead us to one of the lofts overlooking her throne room.”

“Are you sure that it is unguarded?” Arthur questioned.

“It may have a few men patrolling the outside, but the interior should be completely abandoned.”

“That’s where we’ll go then,” Arthur declared before they all scouted out in search for the tower. They had left their camp a short while after midday, after regaining their strength and dealing with a few more of Merlin’s visions. It worried Arthur how frequent they had become, but he finally deemed Merlin’s mental state to be fair enough after several insistent pleas from the servant that they go.

“There it is!” Kara called, stumbling towards the edge of the forest and peeking out from behind a bush at the small tower. It certainly looked abandoned, vines climbing the walls and windows dark and empty.

Merlin, Mordred, and Arthur gathered around her.

“There’s only one guard,” Merlin pointed out, nodding in the direction of the armored man standing at attention near the base of the tower.

“Alright,” Arthur said, turning to Mordred and Kara, “Mordred, you stay here with Kara and Merlin and I will try and get inside.”

“What?” Kara protested.

“There’s no need for us to risk your safety,” Arthur said sternly. “We’ll also need backup in case something goes wrong. So, you two will remain behind and _stay hidden.”_ Arthur patted Mordred on the shoulder before turning to Merlin and walking towards the tree line.

Merlin looked back at the two suspiciously. Kara looked anything but pleased about Arthur’s orders and the look on her face did nothing to diminish his mistrust in her.

“Merlin,” Arthur voice whispered, bringing the boy out of his thoughts, “I need you to knock out the guard.”

Merlin nodded and, with a flash of his eyes, the man was out, easy and simple. The two of them snuck out of hiding and crossed the clearing towards the tower. When they reached the base, Arthur slid the limp guard out of the way and jiggled the door handle. It wouldn’t open. So, Arthur rammed his shoulder into the door several times before Merlin put a hand on his chest. “Arthur,” he hissed, bringing his efforts to a halt.

Arthur looked on in slight confusion as Merlin held his hand over the lock and whispered a few ancient words, causing the door to click open. Merlin looked at Arthur incredulously before pushing past him and inside. Arthur scoffed at his own foolishness before he followed suit.

With hands over their mouths, the pair of them trudged up the stairs of the decrepit tower, mold in the air and fungus on the walls.

“Wait,” called the strained cough of Merlin’s voice as he spotted a hall that led away from the spiral stairs. “I think this is the way to the overlook.” He pushed through another door and stumbled out into a long, empty corridor, trying to keep his coughs muffled and quiet.

Merlin took a few paces forward, Arthur in tow, and recognized the structure before him. “The loft should be this way,” he said in a hushed voice, beckoning Arthur to continue on. Sure enough, the hall opened up to a small overlook and they both crouched down.

“Check the exits,” Arthur ordered. Merlin crawled across the room to check the far door whilst Arthur closed the one they came in through. They met up back at the center of the loft and could hear voices talking about something urgent below.

They snuck up to the railing and peered over the rim of the overlook, holding onto the rail beams as if they were the bars to a prison cell.

“. . . and you’re certain?” Morgana’s voice questioned from her crumbling throne. “That’s not possible!”

“The rumors have spread across the five kingdoms!” said a filthy looking man who stood across from the witch, hands folded in front of him. “There is no possible way that it is not true! The serving boy is Emrys.”

Chills ran up Merlin’s spine at the thought of Morgana knowing his identity and he could feel Arthur’s concerned eyes on him.

“And he has allowed magic back into the land on his account?” Morgana screeched, outraged.

“Yes, milady,” the man stammered. “And, he is no longer but a mere servant. He stands as the king’s right hand man, a royal magician, so they say!”

Morgana let out a horrid squeal of displeasure and her eyes flashed a furious gold, causing the building to shake and a few loose bricks to fall from the ceiling above. When the structure finally settled down, she took a few calming breaths. “Is there anything else?” she asked.

“No, milady,” the man replied.

“Leave!” she hissed and the man wasted no time in scampering out of the room and out of sight.

Both Merlin and Arthur were surprised to see a wicked smile curl onto the witch’s face then, a low, malicious laugh vibrating out from her throat. She stood and walked to a nearby window, where a large black bird was perched. She reached out a hand and stroked its feathers affectionately. “You’re the only one to bring me _good_ news, aren’t you?” she cooed. The bird cawed back and she chuckled.

“Arthur,” Merlin rasped with wide eyes, “the raven.”

The king’s heart sank as he realized what Merlin meant. The raven before them was the very same bird that had caused Merlin so much discomfort as it flew over Camelot not the day before. “Dammit,” Arthur breathed.

“It’s Kara,” Merlin spat quietly, “she’s betrayed us!”

“We don’t know that yet,” Arthur protested, hope falling from his voice.

“We’re expecting visitors soon,” Morgana spoke, running her long nails through the plumage on the bird’s belly.

Merlin and Arthur looked on in confused curiosity as the doors flew open somewhere below them, banging against the thick stone walls.

“Here they are!” Morgana announced, wandering back to her throne before taking a seat.

“I found them lurking in the trees,” a gruff voice said as three men came into view, holding two prisoners. Arthur cursed at the sight of Mordred and Kara being dragged in and shoved to their knees before Morgana, who smiled devilishly down at them. “This one put up quite a fight,” he said, smacking Mordred upside the head. “We lost two men.”

Arthur couldn’t be sure from where he was sitting, but it appeared that Mordred and Kara had been gagged and their hands were fastened together behind their backs.

“Bring me the girl,” Morgana growled, standing to meet her. The man forced Kara onto her feet and shoved her forwards until she stood before the witch.

Morgana looked her up and down with a devious gleam in her eye. Then, she slowly brought her hands up to the Druid girl’s face and removed her gag. “So, you’re the one who’s been sending me these lovely letters,” Morgana purred, gesturing to the raven.

Mordred looked to Kara in disbelief.

“Yes,” she responded. She was nervous, it was an obvious observation, but she stood tall and strong before the woman she looked up to, bravely.

“So Emrys is here,” Morgana inquired.

“Yes, as promised,” she confirmed.

Morgana smirked. However, the pleasure quickly left her voice as she asked, “Why did you not tell me that he was Arthur’s manservant?”

“I did not think it was important,” Kara stated, voice shaking slightly, as Morgana circled around her like a predator.

“You cannot _imagine_ how important that fact is,” Morgana growled. “I have a very _personal_ vengeance reserved for the boy. And, now that I know he is Emrys, my _hatred_ for him is only _stronger.”_

Kara had an honest look of confusion on her face and an intrigued look in her eye. “What could he have done to warrant such ill will?”

“He is the only thing that stands between me and Arthur Pendragon!” Morgana screeched, losing her temper. “Time and time again he’s gotten in my way! _But,_ now that I know of his and Arthur’s _ailment,_ I finally have a way of keeping _both_ Arthur _and_ Emrys out of my way!”

“What is it?” Kara asked excitedly. “Whatever it is, I will gladly assist you, Lady Morgana!”

Morgana stopped her circling and smiled down at Kara, admiring her devotion. “You already have done so and shall be rewarded. Have no doubt that you will be honored once I have reclaimed the throne!”

Kara looked like she was about to thank Morgana or possibly even grovel at her feet. However, before she could say anything, Morgana shot out orders. “Unbind her, you fools! Make her comfortable.”

Morgana watched gleefully as two of her men severed the rope that bound Kara’s wrists. With a bow, the Druid girl followed them out of the room, led away to one of the coziest chambers that the manor could offer.

When they had left, Morgana stalked closer to Mordred, who looked sadly at the ground with heartbroken eyes.

“You,” Morgana spat, bending down in front of him and snatching his cheeks in her clutches, forcing him to look her in the eye, “betrayed me! I took you in and gave you a _purpose,_ and _how_ do you repay me? You will pay for siding with the Pendragons and you will watch as Emrys falls!” Mordred regarded her coolly, starring daggers at her, unable to retort with the gag that stretched across his mouth. Suddenly, Morgana spat in his face and he flinched away, out of her grasp. “You know what to do with him,” she snarled, gesturing for the remaining guard to take him away. He did, Mordred obediently allowing himself to get dragged away, a broken man.

Then Morgana was left alone again, both Arthur and Merlin holding their breath in anticipation, wondering if she knew where they were or if someone was to come charging after them from either side. She laughed, a low and throaty laugh, as she paced the room.

“You thought you were so clever, didn’t you?” she sneered. Before either of them could do anything, Morgana’s eyes burned with a golden fury that sent Merlin and Arthur crashing through the railing of the overlook and landing hard on the stone ground below. Dust and debris clouded the air as they both struggled to their feet. However, the moment they cleared their heads and tried to stand, the witch’s eyes were bright again, sending them both flying against the wall, unable to move as she pinned them there with an invisible force about the neck.

Merlin scratched and groped at his collar but there was nothing to latch onto, Morgana’s magic just coiled tightly around his throat so that couldn’t breathe. He kicked and jerked around as much as he could but there was nothing to break free from. He wanted so desperately to have his feet on the ground again and, as Morgana stomped towards them, hatred penetrating him with her gaze, he couldn’t help but feel like he was being hanged all over again. Just as she reached them, darkness began to seep its way into his vision until he passed out, heart beating like a rabbit’s.

“Merlin!” Arthur wheezed, noticing that his friend had gone limp beside him.

Morgana let her spell drop and they both slunk to the floor, Merlin going slack and slumping against the wall. Arthur was quick to scramble towards him but Morgana met him with a blow of magic, striking his head against the wall behind him. Concussed and out of breath, Arthur struggled to stay conscious, knowing that Merlin’s magic wouldn’t get him out of this whilst the warlock was invalid as he was.

Morgana cackled as she eyed the prone form before her. “Emrys cannot save you now, Arthur!”

But behind Merlin’s eyes, the Crystal Cave was still calling out to him, pleading with more desperation than it ever had before. His head pounded with the powerful magic that ensnared him and, just as Morgana lifted her hand to strike Arthur down, Merlin’s eyes flew open flaring with a fiery magic, driven by the thaumaturgy that was woven into the very earth, and Morgana was thrown back through the air, skidding across the floor as she landed.

“Go!” Merlin shouted, struggling to his feet and helping Arthur up at the same time. They ran for the nearest window and hurdled through them into the woods, Morgana’s inhumane howl of ferocity following in their wake.

Neither of them chanced a look back as the enraged form of Morgana chasing after them with a violent vigor, throwing spell after spell in their direction. Arthur could hear Merlin shouting in foreign tongue as he ran behind Arthur, repelling everything that came their way with a wave of his hand or a flash of his eyes.

As they ran and ran and ran and ran, their hearts pounded and their chests burned, breathing fast and heavy but not slowing in the slightest. As Merlin sprinted and dashed around tree trunks and bush branches, he looked down at his feet, only to see another pair overlay his own; Morgana’s. This was the very same path that Morgana had taken to the Crystal Cave in his visions and they were following it to a point. Merlin looked up at Arthur, beginning to stumble and sway as he ran as the visions clouded his memory, and called out to him. “Arthur!”

Arthur looked over his shoulder just as Merlin’s shoulder rammed into a large protruding branch. The boy winced but hastily regained his speed, feet clumsily forcing themselves to continue on. When Arthur faced front again, he was met with the sight of age old statues, standing tall and weary, ominously looking over the Valley of the Fallen Kings.

The monarch slowed and allowed Merlin to catch up to him. The warlock didn’t even notice that Arthur had stopped and fell straight into him. Arthur barely kept him from falling over but managed to right him. Merlin looked up at the looming statues above and shook his head. “No, Arthur,” he pleaded with wide eyes. “We can’t go in there! The visions! They’re playing out right in front of us!”

A ferocious cry sounded in the distance, signaling Morgana’s impending advent and Arthur dismissed Merlin’s plea. “There’s no other way Merlin! We have to go, _now!”_ He pushed Merlin forwards by the shoulder and they both leapt into the valley with heavy hearts.

Morgana seemed almost nonexistent, if it weren’t for the blasts of energy that sent them running every few seconds, her rage fueling each bout of magic.

Merlin’s heart nearly stopped when the mouth of the cave came into view and they were cornered, no other way to turn. He skidded to a stop and stared at the cave, mouth gaping and eyes round.

“Come on!” Arthur yelled as he ran past Merlin, who had frozen in place.

Merlin shook his head fretfully and staggered backwards. Arthur ran to meet him and pulled him towards the cave, just in time to keep him from getting lobbed in the back of the head by a piece of falling debris from another of Morgana’s attacks. Arthur dragged Merlin through the opening of the cavern as he jerked and struggles to be let go. “No, no, Arthur!” he rasped as Arthur tugged him along by the tight grip he had on Merlin’s bicep.

Throwing Merlin inside, Arthur managed to dodge out of the way of one final blast before they were safe within the cave.

Breathing heavy and coated with sweat, the two of them leaned wearily against the wall of the cool, dark cavern as the commotion outside seemed to dissipate. It was silent for a few moments, the only sound being their baited breaths. Merlin shook as his eyes darted around the cave, he knew what was going to happen and every inch of his being told him to turn and run, out of the cave, away from the vision’s course, but he couldn’t. He felt as if he were frozen in place and wanted nothing but to curl into himself and give up.

Suddenly, breaking the tense lull, a mighty voice rang out, carried to them by the brisk winter breeze. _“Tófillan hira iileów! Geniþerian se cenningstów sylfum drýlác! Awerdan se oristalla soræf!”_ And the walls around them began to shake and grumble, bits of the ceiling collapsing down on all sides.

A desperate Arthur looked down at Merlin, slouched against the wall as he was. “Merlin,” he said with a strange expression.

Merlin looked hopelessly up at his king, round, blue eyes void of any of their former cheery optimism, and said, _“Run.”_

They took off, feet slapping against stone as they crashed into walls and corners trying to find their way in the dark. Their hope drained from them as the place shook and rattled more violently, making it more and more difficult for them to keep their footing and dodge around falling stones.

Finally, they saw a light and Merlin hope and prayed against all that he knew that it was the light of day and not the unnatural glow of crystals, but he was wrong. He stopped, dead in his tracks, as he took in the sight before him; bright, luminous stones pulsating with light, almost angrily, screaming at Merlin to look into them and witness their enticing oracles. Almost entirely oblivious to the collapsing structure around him, Merlin looked on, stunned with fright and misery, until Arthur rounded a corner and spotted him standing there.

“Merlin!” he screamed as he came charging through the cavern and, just before the tunnel came crumbling down on top of them, barreled into Merlin, forcing them both through the opening and into the center of the cave, leaving the crashing rocks and boulders roaring in their wake.


	10. Arm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin are left waiting for far too long.

_His head throbbing with an unimaginable pain, Arthur slowly returned to consciousness. A heavy pain pressed against the back of his eyes and he struggled to pry them open. When he did, he could see nothing but blurred hues of grey and blue. He struggled to bring his arms underneath himself and eventually climbed into a sitting position._

_Atop shaking arms, Arthur blinked heavily to clear his vision, meeting the foreboding display of crystals embedded in the walls around him on all sides. With a sudden pang of fear, he turned his head and met a terrifying sight; Merlin, quivering from head to toe, slumped up against a large stone and ghostly eyes transfixed on one of the many vibrant crystals._

_“Merlin!” Arthur croaked, finding his voice raspy and rough. “Merlin!” he called again, but Merlin did not answer. He was in a daze, trapped by the crystal’s hypnotic temptation._

_Arthur rolled onto his side, causing his head to pound with pain and the world to spin around him. He powered through and crawled to Merlin, chainmail scraping against the rough cave floor. When he was in reach, he grabbed Merlin’s foot and tugged on it to try and get his attention but only serving in causing Merlin to slide down into a more lax looking slump. Unnerved by the lack or reaction, Arthur scrambled forwards, snatching Merlin’s shoulder and tearing his gaze away from the crystal whilst pulling him back into an upright position._

_Merlin gasped in an awful, petrified gulp of air and his eyes began to dart around the room. His breathing quickened to short, shallow, spastic winces, chest heaving up and down in a frantic motion. He clung to Arthur, digging his fingers into the meat of his arm as he clawed at him in fright, all the while not noticing that his friend was shouting his name._

_“Merlin! Merlin . . .” Arthur desperately tried to soothe over the sound of Merlin’s fitful breathing and occasional dry sobs. In a helpless attempt to stop Merlin’s fretting, Arthur pulled him close and covered his eyes, holding the back of his head to his chest. He hushed his panicking friend and said, “Merlin, don’t look at them. You don’t have to look at them.”_

_Eventually calming slightly, Merlin lessened his struggles and his grip before turning into Arthur and putting at hand on his shoulder. Arthur struggled to keep his hand positioned above Merlin’s eyes as his face was revealed to him, strained in a pain beyond the body._

_“What did you see?” Arthur asked in a hush, rubbing his thumb across Merlin’s brow._

_Merlin shook his head. “No,” he whispered._

_“Alright,” Arthur complied softly, and he brought his other hand around to hold Merlin’s far shoulder. “Alright,” he said again, assuring Merlin that he was safe with him as the boy unwillingly fell asleep._

_When Merlin stilled, Arthur slowly removed his hands from his eyes to confirm that he was sleeping. When he was met with nothing but the blank lids and a furrowed brow, he sighed and lowered Merlin onto his back. Then, he carefully removed Merlin’s neckerchief and tied it about Merlin’s head, effectively putting up a barrier between him and the prophecy inducing jewels around them._

For the first time in ages, Arthur could feel something. He was being moved and he could feel the cold touch of hands around him. Suddenly there was a blast of clean, fresh air tickling his skin and filling his lungs. And he felt safer somehow.

_When Merlin finally came to, it was with a sharp breath that brought Arthur out of a daze. The king looked down at the warlock from where he sat beside him, and waited for him to rouse. Merlin seemed confused as he turned his head to the side and found that he could see nothing. He sniffed and brought a curios hand to his eye, finding the blindfold._

_“Arthur?” he whispered as he sat up, tugging at the cloth about his brow. Arthur was quick to take his hands away._

_“No, Merlin,” Arthur instructed, “keep it on. Don’t look at the crystals.”_

_Merlin winced as he seemed to remember where he was and he appeared to collapse a bit inwardly. He took a few deep breaths in the tense silence before he turned to Arthur. “You were injured,” he recalled. “You’re head . . .”_

_“I’m fine,” Arthur insisted, but it was forced._

_“Let me see,” Merlin said, trying to crawl to him. He reached out his hand and, sighing with reluctance, Arthur guided Merlin to the wound._

_Merlin and Arthur both winced as his hand found the delicate flesh on the back of Arthur’s head. Merlin fingered Arthur’s hair, trying to get a blind feel for the injury. He sighed and said, “It’s probably concussed . . . I’ll have to take a look at it.”_

_“No,” Arthur refused, no lenience present in his voice. He spun around, grabbed Merlin’s hands, and swung them away from the cloth around his head. “No, Merlin.”_

_“Arthur,” Merlin groaned. “. . . Fine, but let me treat it.” Arthur complied and tore a strip of cloth from his jerkin for Merlin to use. With his hands as his eyes, Merlin took the cloth and struggled to his feet. He staggered away from Arthur, still shaking nervously._

_“Where are you going?” Arthur asked, cautiously sitting up straighter._

_Merlin shushed him. “Hear that?” he asked, pausing and turning his head as if he were listening to something._

_Arthur paused and listened, but all he could hear was their ragged breathing. “No,” he said._

_“Here,” Merlin said, climbing over a few of the fallen rocks and stumbling atop a large mound. Bits of rocks and pebbles rolled to the ground, clacking against the larger stones. “Listen,” he said, pressing his ear up against the rock wall. “There’s water.” He pulled his head away from the rocks and felt around for a weak spot in the debris. “There’s a river west of here. The collapse must have shifted its route. Now it’s running right above us.” As he finished explaining, he tugged a rock loose and, instantly, a small trail of water began to trickle out of the created crevice._

_Arthur looked on, warily impressed with Merlin’s senses, as he wet the rag with the cool river water that seeped through the wall. He brought the wet cloth back to Arthur and dabbed at his wound, cleaning it the best he could without his sight._

_Arthur sat and waited silently as Merlin treated him, studying the boy as he worked; the way his arms and hands shook, the way he seemed to make himself as small as possible, the way his breath would hitch slightly every so often. He finished cleaning the gash in Arthur’s head and let out a shuddering breath, sitting back against the cave wall feeling utterly helpless._

_“We need to get out,” Merlin huffed in a rough, exhausted voice._

_“And how do you suppose we do that?” Arthur asked._

_“We’ll have to move some of the stones and we can—“_

_“Merlin,” Arthur sighed. “The rocks won’t budge. I tried moving them when you were out—and even if we could we’d have to tunnel through for god knows how long before we actually got out. There’s no way that we can move these rocks from the inside.”_

_“No,” Merlin refused, shaking his head. “No, there has to be another way. We need to get out. Morgana will no doubt be weakened by the spell but it won’t be long before she regains her strength and attacks Camelot.”_

_“Use_ your _magic to dig us out then!” Arthur rasped._

_Merlin sighed, “I can’t. Morgana’s spell prevents me from using any magic against the cave. That’s why it will have drained her. The stones have to be moved by hand.”_

_“Unless we somehow dig_ upward, _I don’t see how we can possibly get ourselves out,” Arthur breathed, slouching in defeat. “And, like you said, there’s a river above us!”_

 _Merlin bit his lip and bowed his head, brow furrowed. “No,” he said again, clenching his fists. “No, I can’t stay in here._ I can’t, _Arthur.” A shiver ran up Merlin’s spine as he felt the pull of the crystals around him. He put a hand to his head to try and clear his mind, but it was no use. The cave was as powerful as he was and it had an advantage; it couldn’t feel like he could._

_“I know,” Arthur growled in frustration throwing his hand in the air, “but there’s not much we can do.” He paused and thought for a moment, then said, “The knights! They’ll come looking for us!”_

_“In_ four days!” _Merlin exclaimed. “And it’ll take them_ weeks _to dig through this mess, even with_ a thousand _men!” He let out an exasperated breath and let his head rest against the wall._

_“The crystals,” Arthur said after a moment of lull, “what where they showing you?”_

“Nothing,” _Merlin spat, letting his fears get the better of him. “I mean, no. No, I won’t . . . Please, just don’t make me.” His voice cracked and he turned his face away from Arthur, pressing his cheek into the rocky surface beside him. His face scrunched up in desperation as he breathed against the cool stones._

All Arthur could hear was muffled noises, undistinguishable from the hollow sound of his own breathing. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but a blur of strange, unfamiliar colors. He blinked, very slowly, a few times and he began to see more clearly. He could hear the urgent voices of his knights, trying to call out to him, speak to him but he could not understand. Leon and Gwaine stood above him, trying to get him to rouse, but he slowly drifted away again, just as he noticed the blue sky behind them.

 

 

_“Merlin!” Arthur shouted as he woke, spotting Merlin. He staggered forwards and grabbed him by the shoulders, throwing him away from the crystals and onto his back, where he skidded against the hard ground. He began to panic, groping at the ground, unable to get a hold on anything. “Merlin, stop!” he yelled, pinning the boy down and kneeling on his arms. He scrambled for his neckerchief, which had fallen loose around his neck, and pulled it back up, over his eyes._

_When Merlin finally calmed, Arthur collapsed onto his side, struggling for breath. It’d felt like days had passed since they were trapped within the cave, but neither of them could tell how many with no visual of the sun whatsoever. Arthur suspected that they’d been there a little over a week and Merlin kept taking off his blindfold whenever the crystals’ call was too strong. He fought it the best he could but there weren’t many things to distract him. He always seemed haunted by whatever he saw and rarely spoke to Arthur, unless it was to advise him in things regarding his injury._

_“You’re exhausted,” Merlin said from beside him, both of them staring at the roof of the cave._

_Arthur scoffed. “Tackling you to the ground isn’t as easy as it seems,” he said, trying to lighten the mood of their helpless situation._

_“You’re hungry,” Merlin said, tilting his face towards his king._

_Arthur laughed again. “Wow, Merlin. You’re so intelligent when it comes to these sorts of things.”_

_“I’m serious,” Merlin snarled, sitting up. “You need food.”_

_“We_ both _need food,” Arthur commented, sitting up as well, fighting against the stinging pain in his stomach._

_“No,” Merlin denied. “We don’t know how long we’ll be in here. If we find food, you’re eating all of it. I’m expendable, remember?”_

_“No,” Arthur countered, shaking his head. “No, Merlin. I’m not putting you through that.”_

_Merlin shook his head. “You can’t stop me, Arthur. It’s my job to keep you safe and, if starving myself will give you more to eat and longer to live, then that is what must be done.”_

_“Fine,” Arthur huffed, “then I refuse to eat unless you do.”_

_Merlin sighed and lied back down, resting his hands over his stomach to try and dim the pain. “You cannot die,” he said, before falling asleep._

“Arthur?” The voice of Leon rang out. “Sire, are you alright?”

Arthur groaned and his eyes fluttered open, greeting him with the blurry image of his noble knight. He opened his mouth to answer but found that he’d forgotten how to talk. He couldn’t seem to get the words to form in his head and he couldn’t quite understand what Leon’s words meant in the first place.

“We need to get him to Gaius,” said someone out of sight. “We must keep moving. He won’t stay conscious for long anyway.”

 

 

_“Here,” Merlin said._

_Arthur looked up from where he was staring into space to find a slab of meat held out a little too close to his face and a blindfolded Merlin behind it with his head bowed. The meat was cooked, no doubt in the magical fire that Merlin had created, setting ablaze strips of his jacket that he’d sacrificed for their warmth._

_“What is that?” Arthur asked, not knowing how Merlin could have possible come across any sort of meat._

_“It’s rat,” Merlin blurted._

_Arthur eyed the flesh before him and said, “No . . . That’s_ far _too big to be_ rat.”

_“Well that’s what it is,” Merlin urged, pushing the meat closer to him. “Arthur, you can barely hold yourself up. You need to eat soon or you’ll waste away.”_

_“So will you,” Arthur pointed out._

_“But I’ll come back,” Merlin argued. “You won’t.”_

_“I’m not eating until you do first,” Arthur insisted._

_“No,” Merlin protested. “Just eat it, please.”_

_Merlin sounded strangely desperate and his voice shook even more than it had been recently. Arthur eyed him strangely, and then looked back at the oversized slab of meat before him. “Not until you tell me what it really is,” he demanded._

_Merlin tilted his head away and took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s rat,” he ground out._

_“No,” Arthur denied, grasping Merlin’s wrist in his hand, “it’s not. Merlin, what is it?” He unintentionally let his voice grow aggressive and he studied the flesh even closer. Then he looked to Merlin, noticing for the first time that he was clutching his left arm to his stomach. “Merlin?” Arthur asked, eyeing his friend with dread, causing his heart to clench. He feared what Merlin’s answer would be._

_“It’s . . . rat . . .” Merlin replied, but his voice was barely present, cut off by a choke that caught in his throat. He bit his lip and bowed his head again._

_Arthur took a steady breath before launching forward with what little strength he had and taking a hold of Merlin’s hidden arm._

_“No!” Merlin yelled, trying to pull it out of his grasp, scrambling onto the ground and failing to kick Arthur away._

_Eventually, the larger of the two was able to tear Merlin’s arm away from his body and hold it out in the glow of the crystals. He stopped, eyes wide and entirely horrified by what he saw, despite him already having suspected it. There was a large amount of Merlin’s flesh missing from his arm, exposed to the bone and bleeding profusely. Arthur looked down at the slab of roasted meat in Merlin’s other hand and gapped at his servant’s selflessness._

_“Why?” Arthur asked, though he could guess the answer._

_“You need to eat,” Merlin said weakly. He let his head fall against the ground, not having the strength to sit back up._

_Arthur swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall and set Merlin’s bloody, mutilated arm by his side. The boy’s eyes, sunken in his skull, were half closed as he held the meat out again in a trembling hand. “Please,” he whispered._

_Arthur nodded. “Okay,” he croaked, “okay,” and he took the meat from Merlin and he held it in his hand. Then, he watched hopelessly as Merlin bled and died for him. He sat back with a thump and looked at the flesh before him with disgust. He didn’t think he could do it;_ eat _a part of someone, a human being, his friend no less. He gulped as he stared it down. Merlin had looked so desperate to take care of him and he had sacrificed his own survival to replenish him. He was so pale and so still beside him, reduced to skin and bone. It was Merlin’s sacrifice that he held in his hand and he would die before he let it go to waste. He had to eat, he had to live because Merlin needed him to. It was the only thing he wanted._

This time, Arthur woke with a gasp and the only word he could think to speak was the name of his friend. “Merlin!” he called out in a raspy voice, hoarse with disuse. “Merlin! Merlin! Where is he?”

Someone shushed him and he was pressed down into an array of pillows. He thought he heard Gaius’s voice, telling him that it didn’t matter, that Merlin didn’t matter right now, that Arthur needed rest. How could he _not_ matter? He needed to know if he was alright. He needed to see his face again. He needed to stay awake.

 

 

 _He drifted in and out of consciousness as Merlin grew weaker. Each time the lad resurrected, it took him longer to recuperate, sleeping for days before he force fed Arthur again. Arthur questioned him on the placement of his cuttings, wondering why the boy did not dissect a meatier part of himself. However, he did not want the answer. He merely needed to say_ something. _Their time in the caves was dominated by silence, both of them suffering immensely; Arthur by the traumatizing act of being forced to eat his friend’s flesh and Merlin being haunted by the visions he refused to talk about. So, Arthur lost the will to think before he spoke and said anything and everything that came to mind, having an unquenchable need for normality as they were trapped for weeks on end. When Arthur let the words unwittingly fly loose from his mouth, Merlin's answer was grim. He claimed that it was quicker. If he were to butcher from his thighs or his stomach, he would die much slower, feel more pain. With the meat of his wrists, he bled quickly, the numb taking hold almost instantly it seemed._

_Arthur would often try to tackle Merlin, stop him from making such sacrifices as he did, but he was weak. Though Merlin managed to keep him fed, the time between each meal grew longer and the king would often regurgitate all that he ate, both from the malnourishment and the gory aspect of it all. So, he always failed in preventing Merlin from cutting himself up like a piece of game._

_He couldn’t be sure how long they’d been trapped anymore, but it felt like an eternity. On the rare occasions that Merlin spoke, it was with a pessimistic remorse that Arthur couldn’t bear, talking of Morgana’s inevitable attack that most likely had already passed, the doubt that the knights would ever even find them if they hadn’t already been taken as the witch’s captives, and the strange things he unwillingly muttered to himself immediately after being torn away from another vision._

_Arthur tried to contradict Merlin’s depressive thoughts by insisting that his knights were strong, brave, and good hearted, with no doubt in his mind that they would eventually find them. He assured Merlin that Guinevere was a magnificent queen and that she would not give in so easily to any of Morgana’s efforts. As for the visions, he could do naught but hope that Merlin would not give in to their supposed inevitability._

_Merlin had stopped wearing the blindfold. There was no point to it anymore, the influence of the crystals becoming so strong that he_ had _to suffer through one or two visions a day and could only rest from them once the cave deemed him worthy enough. He averted his eyes, always staring at the cave floor when he wasn’t tending to Arthur, the fire, or the water. They had run out of Merlin’s jacket to burn and resolved to using both of their boots, with as much preservation as possible. They often sat on their feet to keep them warm, using the fire to warm their hands and their faces . . . and to cook._

_The image of Merlin’s cold, dead face haunted Arthur each time he was made to eat a regenerated part of him, and it lingered in the back of his mind like a ghost when he wasn’t. But now, as Merlin aroused from yet another martyr’s death, he feared the look on his face would not fade. Merlin didn’t get up this time. He just opened his eyes, barely conscious, and stared blankly ahead. He was limp on the cold, uneven ground, his gaze vaguely in Arthur’s direction, lashes fluttering from time to time in the heat of the fire that was quickly fading. He wanted to give Arthur more food, to ensure that he survived, but he could not move. He had to concentrate with ever part of his mind just to stay breathing. He wished he could tell Arthur to take the food for himself but he both could not speak and knew that Arthur could never bring himself to harm Merlin, not now._

_So, Arthur lied starving and Merlin lied starved, and they both waited for the inevitable end to their suffering. Whether it be by a magnificent rescue or by a gradual dissipation from life, they did not care. They just wanted it all to end._

Gradually coming to his senses, Arthur found the ceiling of Gaius’s chambers greeting him once again, the memories of what had happened to him and Merlin, whirling around in his mind. He had so many questions but did not bother to ask them. He did not care whether he got answers at this point. He would accept them if and when they’d come. The only one he had a burning desire to know was, _What happened to Merlin?_

He blinked a few times, gaining a better sense of consciousness than he had had in a very long time. He deemed sitting up not being worth the effort and instead turned his head to the side where he knew Merlin’s cot would be.

“Merlin . . .” he sighed, voice broken and barely present. It was the first time he’d seen his friend in the light for so long and he felt nauseous as the sight of it. He was pale, a different pale than his usually glow. His skin seemed almost grey, having lost all color to it whatsoever. His cheeks were sullen and his eyes were sunk into his skull. The clothes he wore clung to him and draped loosely around his bones that stuck out in malnourishment. His chest was all but still, breath painfully slow and shallow, making him appear dead.

“Arthur?” came a hesitant voice from his other side. It was Gwen, but he did not turn his head. Instead, he took a deep, shuddering breath, unable to tear his gaze away from his suffering friend.

Gwen rounded the bed and squatted down between their cots, concern lines etched into her face. “Arthur, are you alright?” she asked hopefully. “Do you need water? I can get Gaius if you . . .” she trailed off, realizing that her husband’s woeful gaze was looking past her at the invalid man beyond.

Gaius bustled in then, spreading freshly gathered herbs on the table.

“Gaius!” Gwen called, standing up. “Arthur’s woken.”

The physician was wide eyed as he hobbled over to inspect the damage. The poor man’s heart ached for the crestfallen king, looking out at Merlin with a foreign sort of longing. Gaius took Arthur’s head in his hand and turned him away from the prone figure lying beside him.

“Arthur,” Gaius prompted and the king’s eyes slowly began to wander away from his effete friend. “I need you to sit up for me.”

Arthur’s eyes flickered back to Merlin for a moment before he allowed Gaius to ease him into a sitting position. He slumped forward, back hunched over, too exhausted to put any massive effort into keeping himself upright. Gaius doctored him as an anxious Gwen stood by.

“I’ve treated your head injury and it seems that Merlin had you almost completely rid of your concussion a while back. As for the malnourishment, well, it’s a wonder you’re not as bad off as Merlin is.”

Arthur stiffened at that and, again, his eyes landed on Merlin, all but dead, dreadful looking Merlin. Gaius paused in his work, grinding herbs in a mortar, and bit his tongue. Then, he quickly stood and finished his potions by adding the ground plants to a mixture of elixirs. He brought to Arthur and bid him to drink.

“This will help with the pains,” Gaius informed, as he aided Arthur in slipping the potion down his throat.

“I need you to eat something,” Gaius said as he brought back a bowl of the thinnest broth Arthur had ever seen.

Arthur swallowed, looked to Merlin’s heavily blanketed body and shook his head. “No,” he wheezed. “No, I can’t.”

Gaius and Gwen shared confused and concerned looks before the physician insisted that he eat. As much as Arthur didn’t want to, the moment the hot, steamy food struck his tongue, he gulped it down eagerly, grateful to lessen the aching in his stomach.

“Slow down, Arthur,” Gaius warned. “You must take your time or you’ll be sick and we’ll have a whole other problem to deal with.”

Arthur obliged and lessened his intake before being offered a warm tea that soothed his throat immensely. After a long silence from the king as Gwen went on and on about how worried she was and how the knights had been so eager to find him, Arthur looked away from her and said, “What about Merlin?”

Gaius gave Gwen a hesitant look before he reluctantly advised her to leave them alone for a few moments. She obliged and Arthur was left with a sullen physician.

 “Why hasn’t woken yet?” Arthur asked once Gwen had left.

“Arthur,” Gaius sighed. “Even he has his limits. His magic may be able to rejuvenate him but, Arthur, he died too much too often.”

Arthur’s eyes widened and he looked to Gaius. “You _know?”_

Gaius let out a long breath through his nose and nodded. “Yes. There was no other explanation as to how he survived the . . . the lynching. After all, I’ve had my suspicions for some time. I only hoped that Merlin would never find out. When he woke from the poison of the mortaeus flower, I thought it might have been a miracle. But then it happened again and again until it was certain to be anything _but_ luck keeping him alive. Then, when he found out his Druid name, I thought it almost undeniable for, Emrys, it translates to _Immortal One.”_

“So what’s happened to him,” Arthur asked desperately. “Why hasn’t woken?”

Gaius frowned and looked sorrowfully at his surrogate son. “Merlin died repetitively whilst you two were trapped away. It is my fear that, after dying far _too many_ times in far _too little_ time, Merlin’s magic may be struggling under the strain. Have no doubt that he _will_ make a recovery. I only fear it will be a long and dreadful one.”

“His arm,” Arthur murmured to himself as he recalled the traumatic things his servant did for him.

“His arm will take the longest to heal, yes,” Gaius commented.

Arthur looked up at the man, tears pushing at the back of his eyes. “Merlin he-he fed me—it was—“

“I know,” Gaius assured, patting Arthur on the back like only a doctor as fatherly as he could.

“I want him to wake up,” Arthur said helplessly. “I want him to know how sorry I am.”

“I’m afraid that won’t happen for another day, at least. And even when he does, he’s lost most of his muscle mass Arthur, he won’t be able to move for some time.”

Arthur bowed his head, not in acceptance, but in understanding.

 

 

When Merlin finally did wake, he was unresponsive. He opened his eyes but that was all that he seemed able to do. There was no way to tell if he was in pain or not, there being an utter absence of expression on his face. However, Gaius was able to massage some food down his throat and he seemed conscious enough to instinctively swallow. But he didn’t acknowledge anyone. He just stayed like that for quite a while.

On his third day of waking, he began to blink more, a good sign according to Gaius, and his eyes actually seemed to look around. He was still limp as a ragdoll but he was recovering as far as anyone could tell. He looked at Arthur most of the time, expression blank. Arthur didn’t know what to make of it but he was glad his friend could see him, know he was there.

All Arthur could think about was Merlin and he hated it. As much as he needed to know how Merlin was doing, his thoughts always seemed to stray off into memories of what had been done in the cave. He often refused to eat and Gaius scolded him for it for he was still weak himself.

On the fourth day, just after dawn, Merlin groaned a barely audible noise that spoke nothing but discomfort. Gaius was quick to give him a pain reliever but sadness took over his features as he regained the ability to express. However, the pain in his eyes would disappear only when his gaze met Arthur’s. The sorrow and the fear would be masked by a loving triumph that he’d kept his king alive and they were safe within Camelot.

After only a week, Merlin could move again, but his stomach still ached and his throat was too damaged to speak from all the disuse and abuse it had suffered. His left arm was in a sling and he shook a bit as he walked, but Gaius bid it be far past time that they should be allowed to return to their own chambers.

Another two days passed full of recovery on both ends. Arthur was all but completely healed and Merlin seemed to be stabilizing. They sat, eating a lunch brought by Gwen, who left soon after, claiming she had a council meeting to attend to in Arthur’s absence, which he apologized for. Merlin swallowed down his broth, prescribed by Gaius, and Arthur sat adjacent to him, staring down at his meal.

“You’re not eating,” were the first words Merlin uttered since he’d been retrieved from the cave.

Arthur looked up at him in surprise before frowning down at his food. “I’m not hungry.”

“Yes you are,” Merlin countered in a raspy voice that could barely be heard.

Arthur scoffed. “And how would you know?”

“I can take them away, if you want,” Merlin offered.

“What?” Arthur asked, confused.

“I can _remove_ the time spent in the cave from your memory,” Merlin clarified, “make you forget what happened, what I did.”

Arthur looked over at Merlin, slightly shocked. He considered it, he did, and he hated himself for it. Whenever he even thought of eating, Merlin’s weak state flashed across his memory, reminding him of the sacrifice he made. They had been trapped for a little over a month and he hadn’t eaten a thing, cutting himself open in order to see that Arthur was given food and even trying to hide his own macabre devotion to spare Arthur the trauma. And here he was again, willing to take it all away from Arthur as if it never happened. And Arthur _wished_ that it had never happened and he _wanted_ the memories to go away but he couldn’t just _do that!_ Not to Merlin.

“No!” he refused suddenly, looking at Merlin as if he were a mad man, which he probably was. “No, I can’t do that to you. You’ve given an otherworldly sacrifice. I’m not just going to let you take the knowledge of your loss away from me. You’ve gone too far unrecognized in the past and I will _not_ allow you to go unappreciated for a second longer. I can’t let you free me from my burden and let you carry all the weight on your own, not anymore.”

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed, sounding as though he was going to protest, but Arthur was having none of it.

“Dammit Merlin!” he growled. “You’re such a selfless, self-sacrificing, fool! You’re immortal and you still managed to get yourself killed! Won’t you ever just think for yourself, for once? Give _yourself_ some credit, realize that you deserve to have your _heroic_ deeds remembered, no matter how heavy it may weigh on the other person’s shoulders because it would be _nothing_ compared to the weight _you_ carry!”

Arthur sat back down, realizing that he had, at some point, gotten to his feet in frustration. And sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was an unbearably long silence as both their minds reeled with all that had happened to them.

Finally, thinking he knew what Arthur wanted, Merlin spoke. “Are you feeling alright Arthur because I _think_ I just heard you say that I was a _hero?”_

Arthur laughed humorlessly but slowly let true glee slink back into his heart. “No, Merlin, _you’re_ the one hearing things.”

“Of course,” Merlin scoffed before taking down another gulp of steamy broth.

“Of course,” Arthur echoed, taking a bite of his own food.

 

 

“Arthur, you know she would have acted by now!” Merlin insisted, sitting at the table whilst Arthur paced the room. “We were out of the picture for a month and she did _nothing!_ Why? It was the perfect opportunity to attack Camelot, so why has she been dormant?”

“I don’t know!” Arthur huffed, throwing his hand in the air as he walked anxiously. “There must be some sort of explanation. Didn’t you say that she was weakened by the spell?”

Merlin shook his head. “Her fatigue would have only lasted a few days. There’s no reason she couldn’t have commanded an attack.”

Arthur paused and looked down at Merlin, biting his lip. He crossed his arms as he thought. A week and a half had passed and things had relatively returned to normal, besides Merlin’s left arm still being limp as a doll’s and the strange moments when he would go silent and appear distant.

“Perhaps she wanted to get rid of Gwen first, before she ambushed Camelot,” Arthur suggested, resuming his pacing.

Merlin shook his head again. “She would have taken our absence as an opportunity to attack Gwen, no doubt. It just doesn’t make sense. She . . . Oh.”

“What?” Arthur asked.

“Mordred,” Merlin said grimly. “She still has Mordred and Kara. She must have another plan.”

Even Arthur’s eyes widened at this revelation. Despite his hope for the falsity of the prophecies, Mordred at the hands of Morgana could not bode well.

Merlin sighed and chewed on his lower lip. “The prophecies are coming true Arthur,” he said, sounding so woeful Arthur wanted to smack him.

“Then we’ll just have to go rescue him,” Arthur suggested quickly.

“It has been over a _month_ Arthur! Mordred is already lost! There is no way to get him back now!” Merlin cried. “If we see him, we have to kill him.”

Arthur took a seat beside Merlin and took a large, wary intake of breath. “You’re right,” he admitted, remorse written across his face. “We can’t take the risk. Albion could be a stake.”


	11. Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm still has some turbulence.

The first snow fell softly upon Camelot and, though it was a beautiful sight, the snowflakes flittering down in peaceful dances, it was still not cold enough for the snow to stick. So, the ground was mostly composed of slush and mud, rather than the preferable white, fluffy clouds of winter fun. Regardless of the quality of the precipitation however, the winter solstice was nearly upon them and there was much to prepare.

“I just don’t understand what there is to celebrate about it,” Merlin huffed as he struggled to make both his and Arthur’s bed with one hand.

“I know you don’t understand. I’ve been in your head,” Arthur replied. “But would you at least try to have fun? Morgana’s absence may be _unnerving_ but we can still take advantage of it, can’t we? Think of it as a break.”

“Oh yes!” Merlin cheered sarcastically. “Because all of our past experiences with entertainers and feasts have ended oh so swell! Especially the solstice celebrations!”

“Look,” Arthur protested, “just because you up and fainted that one year, doesn’t mean the whole holiday is deemed ineligible.”

“You all call it a time of _rebirth,_ the _reawakening_ of _nature,”_ Merlin argued, “but, all that happens is; animals get sent to slaughter and everything just gets cold and wet.”

“You’re just a pessimist is all,” Arthur jeered.

Merlin huffed, “Yeah, it’s got _nothing_ to do with past experiences. It’s just, in the winter, my luck runs out.”

“You didn’t have any luck to begin with,” Arthur scoffed.

“Exactly,” Merlin said humorlessly, a sort of sadness seeping into his tone.

Arthur looked at him strangely then, watching as he resumed tugging at the bed sheets with a suffering underlying his silence.

“What is it, Merlin?” Arthur asked.

“What?”

“What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing,” Merlin lied. Ever since they had returned from the Crystal Cave Merlin would act like this. He would fall silent and distant with no explanation. His mind would be elsewhere and his demeanor would be sad. Arthur had a terrible feeling that this had something to do with the visions he dared not talk about, not even when Gaius had asked.  

“It’s the visions isn’t it?” Arthur asked. “Merlin, you need to tell someone about them. They’re eating you up inside.”

“No, I’m fine,” he denied, crossing the room to tend to the other bed.

“What is it that you saw, Merlin?” Arthur pleaded. “I thought we’d agreed on this. We’re sharing the weight.”

“It’s nothing you can fix!” Merlin exclaimed. “And, if you keep asking me about it, I’m never going to forget what I saw!”

Arthur let the subject drop, despite his desire to know. He eyed Merlin as he returned to his work, planning on easing the information out of him somehow.

 

 

“Can you try and flex your fingers for me?” Gaius asked.

Merlin looked down at his hand as his fingers twitched slightly. His arm was still numb but he began to regain feeling in his hand so they stopped by to see Gaius as he had instructed.

“Now try and span them out,” Gaius directed.

Again, Merlin was only able to move his fingers ever so slightly in the requested direction. Gaius frowned as he took Merlin’s shoulder and reapplied his sling.

“Well,” he sighed, “you won’t be lifting anything heavy anytime soon, but it’s improving. You really did a number on it, my boy. It’s going to take a while for the muscle and tissue to reform.”

Merlin huffed and rolled his shoulder after his arm was tucked back into the sling.

“And the cold isn’t doing much to help either,” Gaius commented, glancing out the frosty window. “Stay inside as much as you can.”

“I count on it,” Merlin mumbled as he stood.

“How long do you think until he’s completely healed?” Arthur asked as Merlin took his place beside him.

“A week at the least,” Gaius answered. “Don’t let him strain himself.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and they left to prepare for the feast.

 

 

The next two days were strenuous for the pair. Arthur had his kingly duties that involved invitations and being nagged at by party planner after party planner about what he wanted and who should sit where. Merlin all the while was dragged along, unable to leave his side, whilst also doing his best to help with decorations and preparations whenever possible. Arthur had decided that few people outside the city would be invited. Only some of his most important and honorable lords would attend the celebrations in order to derive unwanted attention away from Merlin and the new laws. He was sure at least some of his lords would want to have their say in his new views on sorcery and he was not looking forward to the negativity.

All in all, neither of them had a moment’s rest until the day of the feast finally arrived. Gaius, thankfully, had allowed Merlin to take his sling off. He was able to move his arm but that point, but only when he put a substantial amount of effort into it and he shook tremendously. Merlin aided Arthur into his armor and his cape before putting on his cloak, demanded to be worn by Arthur again.

They walked to the dining hall together, not that they had much of a choice, and engaged in nervous small talk as they ventured to where the feast would be held.

Despite Merlin’s beautiful display of magic and Arthur punishing the men who had attacked Merlin, there was still do be people within the kingdom that looked down on him. Even after the rumors about the cave had spread, there were those who still thought him evil.

Most of Camelot ended up with the vague story of how Merlin would dice his own flesh for Arthur _and_ himself to eat and repair his wounds using magic. Despite the selflessness of his actions, many hard headed folk claimed that it must all be part of some larger plan to ruin the king’s mind.

That was why it was no surprise that a visiting noble went out of his way to step on Merlin’s cloak as he walked by, causing Merlin to trip up and fall on his bad arm, shooting pain through his bones.

Arthur glared at the man from over his shoulder before helping Merlin back onto his feet.

“I’m fine,” Merlin immediately assured, holding his arm to his chest.

“Let’s go,” Arthur urged, staring daggers back at the man once more as he urged Merlin onward.

As usual, the feast began with a toast to the king, which he accepted honorably. Merlin sat beside him as his right hand man and Gwen was seated to his left as the lovely wife and queen. Merlin spared himself the embarrassment and only drank one cup of wine. However, both he and Arthur barely ate.

“You’re not gaining enough weight,” Gwen commented, gesturing to Arthur’s plate, “neither of you.”

“I just don’t have the appetite is all,” Arthur suggested with a shrug.

“You need to eat more,” Gwen urged, pushing Arthur’s plate closer to him.

It wasn’t as if they weren’t eating at all. Arthur adopted a bad habit of getting sick if he ate too much food and Merlin had only recently been brought off the strict broth diet Gaius had him on. They would both eat as much as possible but, there wasn’t really any present desire to do so.

“Gaius put you up to this, didn’t he?” Merlin questioned, deciding to go for the soup rather than any of the solid foods that were stacked high upon his platter.

“He’s worried about you,” Gwen admitted. “You’ve both been acting so strangely.”

Merlin chose that moment to look away and occupy himself with his food. He’d rather not be questioned whilst he was supposed to be enjoying a celebration.

“Well,” Arthur said, pushing his plate back out where it was before, “tell him there is no need to fuss. We’re both perfectly fine.” Merlin scoffed at his side before the king took up a fork and began to eat.

Gwen seemed unconvinced but wisely let the subject drop.

Merlin never felt entirely right during the winter solstice. Regardless of whether not the veil was intact or not, the mortal world was still very close to the spirits’ during this time and he’d often feel out of place. He supposed that he had always felt this in previous years but had never known what it was until he had been visited by the Cailleach. So, it was not so unnatural for his nerves to be such a mess, especially now that he not only had to be wary of magical threats, but also prejudice lords that would give anything to have his head on a spike.

“So, King Arthur,” said a rowdy lord as he came up between Merlin and the king, “what might we expect from you now that the laws have changed?” He leaned forwards, his elbow sticking out in Merlin’s face.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean?” Arthur responded, looking quizzically up at him.

“Do you really expect us to _house_ these sorcerers?” the lord questioned. “Surely I can refuse to have them as vassals if I do not deem them human under my own beliefs.”

“And what about them would make them inhumane, Lord Jarin?” Arthur asked, challenging the man’s pride in his claim.

“Perhaps their practices make them unworthy of the regular treatment,” Jarin suggested. “What if their beliefs contradict my own?”

“No man shares the same beliefs as any other,” Arthur countered. “These men are no different than those around you. Everyone differs in how they express their morals.”

“These are not _men_ that we are speaking of,” Jarin spat. “These sorcerers are animals and I will _not_ house them on my property.”

“You will if you wish to remain a lord of Camelot,” Arthur insisted, looking mighty compared to man, despite the fact that he remained calm and seated.

“You have brought the evils of this world to your heart and you shall pay for it,” the lord snarled. “You are a fool.”

“That is your _king_ you are speaking to,” Merlin said, looking boldly up at him, lightly pushing his elbow away from his nose.

“You hold your tongue,” Jarin shot back as he turned to leave. “I will not be confronted by the devil’s son.”

“I am not a demon,” Merlin said, standing up to face the man before he could fully turn. “I am no cambion either.”

Arthur looked cautiously up at Lord Jarin, wary of how he would react.

“Then what are you?” Jarin quizzed. “Because I would die before I called you man.”

Merlin took a deep breath through his nose and looked away from him, gathering his thoughts. Merlin wasn’t one to be boastful or proud, but the man before him was questioning Arthur’s capability to rule and he’d had enough of people not having faith in their king. Arthur was to be the greatest king the world had ever known and yet these fools that called themselves lords were spitting on him like a lesser man. So, Merlin thought that a little boasting couldn’t hurt for a change.

“I’ll tell you what I am,” Merlin said before he looked back up at the arrogant man, locking eyes with him. “I am the most powerful person you have ever met and I will not tolerate you speaking to my king this way.”

“Are you _threatening_ me?” Jarin questioned loudly, causing many of the guests attention to turn towards Merlin and his adversary.

“No,” Merlin denied, voice cold and eyes dark. “No, I am telling you to stop making mockery of this kingdom.”

 _“Mockery?”_ Jarin scoffed. “The king is the one making a mockery of this place, allowing such _insolent pests_ such as yourself to stand by his side as if you were an equal! You are a monster and the king is a—”

“Enough.”

Merlin’s voice was solid and final, cutting off Jarin’s voice like a hot blade through butter. The lord’s eyes went wide with offence and he took a step back, raising his hand.

“How _dare_ you speak with such—”

“Lord Jarin,” Arthur said suddenly, freezing the man in his tracks, hand reeled back and ready to assault Merlin, “I would think twice before striking Merlin. He is above you now and the consequences would be extremely dishonorable to you and your house.”

Jarin hesitated but slowly lowered his hand and gave Merlin an accusing look. Then, he turned on his heel and stormed back to his seat, not even sparing them a glance for the rest of the night.

Merlin looked after him for a tense second and Arthur watched him closely. It was no mystery that Merlin was behaving unlike himself. Even those who barely knew him were eyeing him strangely. Then, as if from nowhere, a spoon flew through the air and hit Merlin in the temple. Arthur looked accusingly at the crowd, though unable to decipher which of his subjects had thrown the utensil. Merlin resignedly closed his eyes and quietly sat back down and took another small sip of his wine to distract himself.

Arthur looked sadly on as his disgruntled friend peered around the room as if he were afraid of everyone. He eyed every passing man as if he were ready to tear his chair out from underneath him and he looked on wide eyed at anyone who made a noise a bit louder than they had to as if he expected an outburst of accusations to come barreling over him.  

The king put his head in his hands and cursed destiny for what it did to those who deserved nothing but the best. His own subjects were making a mockery of Camelot. Soon the whole land would look down upon Arthur; the man married to a serving wrench and honored by a magical bastard. His reputation was being crushed before his very eyes and he couldn’t help the hopeless feeling that swelled inside of him. He was doing all that was right and just and yet the people doubted him. If he was to win the hearts of those who mocked him now, however, he would be a tyrant. There was no way he could win.

But, the king knew where he would stand. If he had to choose between two disasters, it would be the one that was brought up by what he believed in, not what the people thought of as _normal._ He’d rather be spat on by the gods themselves than return things to the way they were. With this in thought, when he next lifted his head, it was with a smile on his face. He put a comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder and assured him that it was alright and, though the response may have been slightly forced, Merlin encouraged the same optimism. Then, he turned and kissed his beautiful wife, whom he loved with all his heart, no matter where or what she came from.

Gradually, Arthur cheerfulness bled into the friends around him. Gwen and Merlin’s moods improved dramatically and eventually the knights all conversed in and out of their joyous conversations. Slowly, the prejudice lords all slunk from the room, their own dapper weakened by the merriment of those they spoke out against. All was well.

 

 

When the feast finally came to an end, the king, his wife, and his warlock were all relieved to retire for the night. The stressful audience of prejudice lords was not a thing that they would miss, and they made fun of their snobbish ways as they returned to Arthur’s chambers, feeling far better than they had at the beginning of the night.

However, when they reached the door, things became quite uncomfortable for the three of them.

“Um, Merlin,” Gwen said awkwardly, “I was hoping to spend the night with Arthur. Is that alright with you?”

Merlin looked to Arthur and they both shared a concerned look.

“Gwen,” Merlin said carefully, “you know I can’t . . .”

“I think the room next door is plenty close,” Arthur interrupted, not wanting to let his wife down. It was normal for a king to celebrate with his queen during the holidays. No doubt all the lords were with their ladies. Who was he to deny Guinevere that, especially when she deserved it the most. “Do you think you could manage it, Merlin? Maybe move the bed nearer to the wall so we’re closer.”

Merlin looked hesitant but agreed after a moment’s pause. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll just, um, get my clothes . . .”

Merlin gathered his things and brought them to the room beside Arthur’s. The bed was on the far wall so he dragged it across the room. Just doing that was enough to make his vision go blurry and he was sure that Arthur had felt the same thing on the other side. When the bed was settled closer to the wall dividing their rooms, however, the fluttering inside him dulled down to an ach of feeling disconnected.

He lied down. He supposed it was fine. He would never dream of this being a permanent thing however. The pit in his stomach would be nauseating if he had to experience it regularly. His soul ached to be with its other half and, though it was close enough not to be painful, it aroused a great discomfort in Merlin’s chest, like he wasn’t whole. And he struggled to find sleep in the empty room. He was alone. For the first time in months, he was entirely alone and the room was painfully silent. The lull making his ears ring and the stillness making him blink hard.

Eventually he gave in. It was too quiet and too still and too empty. So he let his senses roam. He could hear the castle walls settling in and the wind brush against the window. He could see the shadows moving, dancing with the dust in the air and he could smell the musty scent of a room that has been left unattended for too long. He let these senses overwhelm him and they were vivid enough to drive a person mad.

Arthur was having the same disconnected feeling on the other side of the wall but he quickly used his lovely lady Guinevere as a distraction. They talked on and on about things that only two people in love could; small things that they didn’t really care about that somehow meant the world in that moment, solely because of who they were talking to.

Their talk guided them gently towards sleep and Arthur forgot about the twisting feeling inside whilst Gwen’s head rested on his chest, peacefully dreaming.

A muffled cry and bad feeling in Arthur’s chest sent him flying into a sitting position, eyes wide and worried.

“What’s wrong?” Gwen asked, composing herself by brushing the hair from her face.

Another wail sounded through the wall and Arthur could _feel_ that something was disgustingly wrong.

“Merlin,” he breathed, hopping from the bed and running from the room, without bothering to put on his boots.

The king rammed through the door and his eyes locked on the wriggling form of his servant on the nearby bed. He strode over to him, reaching him just as Gwen came following him in.

“Merlin, Merlin!” Arthur called, grasping the boy by the shoulders.

Merlin looked up at Arthur and squinted his eyes shut against the sudden burst of light that was coming into the room from the torches outside. Then, he blinked that away, along with the extra colors and swirling light his powers let him see. And he just looked up at Arthur, eyes round and swirling with frightful tears.

“Merlin, what’s wrong?” Arthur asked, shaking him slightly. “What happened?”

“The visions,” Merlin croaked. His voice shook as violently as his body did and he clawed at Arthur’s sleeve with his good hand as he tried and failed to get his bearings. “The visions, they’re awful, Arthur.”

“What about the visions?” Arthur asked, trying to weed some sense through Merlin’s frantic rambles.

“I’m alone,” Merlin whispered through his frantic breathing as his eyes darted around the empty room. “I’m alone. I’m alone.”

“Listen to me Merlin!” Arthur shouted, jostling him for attention. “I’m right here! You’re not alone! Tell me what happened! What was in the visions? What did you see?”

“They were all me, Arthur!” Merlin cried, leaning forward and looking at Arthur pleadingly as though he could take it all away. “They were all me, _alone,_ talking to myself, speaking to someone who wasn’t there! I was always walking in strange places, places that I’ve never seen before, places that don’t exist. Arthur,” he sighed, hopelessness in his voice, _“I looked mad.”_

Arthur looked at Merlin in disbelief. Never had he considered the possibility of Merlin’s visions having taken place so far in the future.

“Hey! Hey, look at me,” Arthur ordered, tightening his grip on Merlin’s arms. “That’s not going to happen,” he assured Merlin. “I promise. You’re too stupid to get lost in your own head. It’s all empty in there; you’ll be fine.” And the king laughed, smiling for Merlin’s sake, despite how scared he was for the fate of his friend.

 

 

Eventually Gwen had intervened, helping Arthur guide a frazzled and half asleep Merlin back to his bed in Arthur’s chambers. He fell into a restless sleep the moment his head hit the pillow and Arthur was left alone with his wife again.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, I’m sorry, really,” Gwen apologized. “I should have never asked him to leave, not with all that’s going on.”

Arthur smiled at her before giving Merlin a worried glance. “I think it was the room,” he mused, more to himself than to Gwen. “We haven’t been apart since the whole spell incident and by the sound of those visions . . . being alone in there must have terrified him.”

“I should go,” Gwen said hesitantly, after a moment of grim silence.

“No,” Arthur sighed.

Though she looked ready to protest, she huffed and admitted, “I probably wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anyway, after all that. I’ll help you look after him.”

Arthur smiled. “Thank you.”

 

 

Arthur, of course, had eventually dozed off against his will, slumped over in a chair by his dining table. Gwen woke him with breakfast that she seemed to have gotten on her own. She roused him and placed the food on the table, where they dined together.

“Is he . . . ?”

“He’s still sleeping,” Gwen assured him. “That fright must have taken a lot out of him.”

Arthur hummed in agreement. “Maybe we should have Gaius come assess him, make sure he’s alright.”

“I highly doubt Merlin would like that,” Gwen protested.

“You’re right,” Arthur scoffed. “The boy wouldn’t ask for help if his head was hanging off by a thread.”

Gwen let a breath of a laugh out through her nose as she took a sip of her drink.

Merlin stirred then, taking large, voluminous breath. Arthur and Gwen shared a wary look before they were both at his side.

“Arthur?” Merlin questioned, a hand on his head. He looked up at his king quizzically. “I thought you and Gwen were going to . . .” Merlin trailed off and his eyes went distant. Then, as the memories seemed to return to him, he stiffened and became a pure image of shame and embarrassment, avoiding his friends’ eyes.

“It’s alright, Merlin,” Arthur assured, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Now get dressed, you lazy oaf. You can’t lie in bed all day.”

Merlin sagged in relief, thankful that Arthur was wise enough to avoid the subject. Then, however, he rolled his eyes. “You should be used to it by now, with all the trouble we’ve been in.”

“Keep complaining and you won’t have a bed to sleep in,” Arthur threatened, jokingly.

Merlin groaned as he complied and climbed out of bed. Noting that Arthur was already dressed, he prepared himself for the day and nibbled on a bit of Arthur’s left over bread. When they were all relatively fed and dressed and they were just about to leave, Gaius came bustling in unexpectedly.

“Gaius,” Arthur addressed him, surprised. “What brings you here?”

“One of the guards told me they heard Merlin having a fit of sorts last night,” Gaius said worriedly. He found his pupil sitting on the edge of his bed, tugging on his new boots. Merlin looked up at him, face red as a rose.

“He’s fine, Gaius,” Arthur assured, noticing Merlin’s discomfort. “It was only a nightmare.”

“How are you feeling, my boy?” Gaius asked, regardless of Arthur’s statement.

“Fine, Gaius, really,” Merlin insisted as he finished buckling his footwear. “It was as Arthur said; nothing but a nightmare.” It was true in a way.

“Normal nightmares don’t make brave men call out in the night,” Gaius argued, taking Merlin’s hand in his own as he studied him.

“Arthur and Merlin have been through quite an ordeal,” Gwen said, putting a hand on Gaius’s shoulder. “I have no doubt that the nightmare might have been abnormal but I think it is entirely excusable considering the circumstances, Gaius.”

“Gwen is right,” Arthur said, giving his wife a thankful look. “I think it would be best if we just ignored the whole incident.”

Gaius looked to Merlin who nodded in agreement. “Fine,” Gaius relented. “But I want to be the first to know if anything else like this happens,” he demanded, standing up and prodding his finger towards Arthur.

“Of course, Gaius,” Arthur agreed. “We would have sent for you last night had we thought there was anything to be overly concerned about.”

With that, Gaius left, saying his fair wells and take cares to Merlin before he’d gone.

Merlin let out a sigh of relief. If there was one thing he did not want to do first thing in the morning, it was recall a nightmare that sent shivers down his spine to a fretting physician. He’d only wished the whole thing never happened.

Some of the visiting lords were still staying in the castle after the long night’s feast so Arthur had little to no plans for the day. A few of them would even stay another day or two if they lived farther away, to rest before they traveled again. Unfortunately, one of these people was Jarin and Merlin had no intention of running into him in the halls.

Gwen led Arthur and Merlin to the courtyard. They stood at the top of the steps, looking at her like a madwoman. It was even more cold and wet than it was the day before, not to mention the morning chill that still hung in the air. Arthur wasn’t overly thrilled and Merlin’s knees knocked together louder than ever.

“It’s freezing outside,” Merlin muttered, “and I haven’t even gotten a new jacket yet.”

Arthur looked to Merlin who appeared even gimpier than he ever had before. For one thing, he was thin, still a bit starved looking from the whole cave epidemic. Then there was the fact that he had used his own coat as fire fuel so he was left in nothing but his loose fitting shirt that hung off his shoulders like a drape. He looked absolutely puny in the state he was in, despite the fact that he was actually even a bit taller than Arthur.

“The two of you haven’t even set foot outdoors since we brought you back to Camelot and it’s about time that you both got some fresh air,” Gwen scolded.

“We’ve been busy, Guinevere,” Arthur excused. “It’s not like we were avoiding it. Hell, you should have heard Merlin complaining whilst he was bedridden, on and on about how his legs needed a stretch.”

“But now it’s just too cold,” Merlin added, hugging himself and taking a step away from the stairs.

Gwen nudged Merlin forwards and he jumped slightly as a large fur cloak was draped over his shoulders. “You can wear my cloak, Merlin,” Gwen offered.

Arthur chuckled at the sight. Somehow, Merlin managed to look even smaller underneath the thick, fluffy cover Gwen had given him. And it was incredibly feminine so, in Arthur’s mind, it suited him perfectly; small and girly.

Without being able to protest further, the two of them were ushered outside and made to walk amongst the slush and mud, having remembered too late about Gaius’s advice. Oh, but they wish they had heeded his words because now they were being forced into the cold by a concerned queen, wife, and friend. Many people eyed them strangely and it took Merlin a minute to realize that the cause was the women’s cloak he had about his figure. He growled as a passing maiden gave him a confused glare and pulled the garment around himself against the cold.

“Why are we out in this mess?” Merlin mumbled, kicking a stray piece of ice, causing it to skid along the cobblestone walkway.

“Fresh air apparently,” Arthur replied. “Though, it smells more like horse to me.”

Merlin scoffed beneath the fluff of his cover. They walked a short while, briefly passing through the marketplace and eyeing some of the things that were being sold and auctioned. Arthur found every opportunity to tease Merlin, from telling him that a lengthy necklace would match his cloak to suggesting he try on an extremely showy dress, all of which, Merlin had comebacks for.

However, as they wondered back into the courtyard, it became apparent that the lords had a similar mindset as Gwen and were mingling amongst themselves in the steadily rising sun. Some of the snow had melted away in the new heat and the lords all were gathered in a dry spot on the stone, talking snobbishly. Arthur could pick out a few nobler of the men, those who did not question his decision on magic. They hung on the outside of the circle, some of them even glaring at the more prejudice lot from time to time when someone said something overly biased. Arthur mentally praised them for not being infected with their companions’ hurtful beliefs.

Arthur and Merlin were just planning on walking straight by, hopefully unnoticed, and returning to the castle. Merlin had winced when Arthur accidentally bumped his arm and he was forced to admit that the cold was causing his recovering limb to hurt, just like Gaius had warned. So, they were going to make a hasty retreat inside to a fire before Gwen would notice their return.

But, of course, Merlin’s luck never went that way. So, as they passed, one of the snobbish lords, who looked particularly similar to a house rat, decided that it would be a grand idea to throw a snowball at the victim of their prejudices.

But it, of course, was not snow.

Merlin sprawled out into a cold puddle as the hefty chunk of ice flew into his temple. He tried to get back up but the soaked cloak he was wearing and his shaking limbs, combined with his disorientation from the blow, seemed to drag him back down. He heard a ringing in his ear and the voices of the lords were far away as they laughed. The unsettling feeling in his stomach as Arthur stormed off to yell and shout at the nobles did nothing to help him and he simply slipped back down again into the mud.

Finally, Arthur was by his side and he threw the cloak off of Merlin before hauling him up onto his feet. He wavered for a moment before he steadied and Arthur guided him back to the stairs.

There, Arthur sat him down. Merlin put a hand to his head and could feel the scrape it left along the corner of his brow. A shiver racked through him and suddenly Arthur came running down the stairs. Merlin, startled because he hadn’t even realized that he’d gone anywhere, was then lifted up off the ground and aided up the steps.

Merlin wasn’t worried. He knew he wasn’t seriously injured; a minor concussion at the worst, but he still couldn’t seem to bring himself out of his daze. He dragged his feet along the floor more than he actually walked and his mind swirled with thoughts that he’d rather not address. He feared for the future. He wondered if things would always be like this, if there would always be so many who hated him. Before he knew it, Gaius’s chambers met him and reality struck back into him with the stench of potions and herbs. He blinked a few times and realized that Arthur had been speaking to him the entire way.

“. . . think something’s wrong,” he said. “He hasn’t spoken since it happened and he’s shaking like a leaf.”

“The shaking has nothing to do with the fact that he was clubbed in the head,” Gaius huffed, pulling Merlin’s seat closer to the fire, whilst also making Merlin aware that he was sitting. “It’s more likely the fact that he’s soaking wet in the predecessors of winter!” Gaius then bent over the boy and stretched out the skin along his hairline to get a better look at the injury.

“He’s most likely just light headed,” Gaius huffed as he let go of his head. “Once it’s cleaned up it should be completely fine.”

“I am fine,” Merlin sniffed, huddling closer to the fire, his mind already feeling clearer.

That was, until Arthur smacked him upside the head.

“Ow!” Merlin winced, rubbing the assaulted spot.

“You scared me half to death, Merlin!” Arthur shouted. “Why wouldn’t you answer me?”

“I didn’t hear you,” Merlin grumbled, still confused within his splash of thought, both dreading and hoping for the future. The thought of people hating him slowly morphed into the collective face of Morgana. He shivered at the thought of her knowing who he really was; Emrys. The witch hated both him and the fabled warlock beyond his own comprehension. With those two identities fusing into one, he couldn’t imagine the wrath that plagued her now. He was suddenly grateful that he hadn’t seen her enraged face whilst they were running from her, too concerned with performing defensive magic and getting Arthur to safety. Again, his mind took a depressing turn as he realized how tragically ironic that was, considering he’d led them both to their doom within the Crystal Cave.

Arthur noticed that Merlin had fallen back into, what he now recognized as, melancholy. He silently cursed himself for hitting Merlin after he was just assaulted in pure prejudice. He wished those lords could feel the pain Merlin had suffered through; all of it, just like he had. Only, living through Merlin’s life would not grant them a marvelous revelation that bonded them closer to a friend. For them, it would purely be torment.

At this thought, Arthur stopped and looked back down at Merlin, where he gazed into the fire, as unseeing as he had just been, and realized for the umpteenth time how much suffering the boy had been through. Sure, he had lived it too, but not really. He didn’t have the scars. He had not been so close to the brink of death as many times as Merlin had. Arthur received a second hand experience, like being told a story that chilled your bones due to how real it seemed. Like mentioning a gnarly wound and feeling your own body tingle with dreadful sympathy, but not actually feeling it. It had been a numb pain. He had not suffered. Hell, his time in the cave was but a knick on his finger compared to all Merlin had lost, and Merlin had suffered that as well, but worse.

He dragged himself out of his treacherous mind and met Gaius’s eyes as the physician looked between the two distant lads between them. He laughed humorlessly at the man’s startled expression before letting his eyes fall on Merlin again.

“What of the men who did this?” came a voice, from the far corner of the room.

All three men’s heads swiveled on their necks to stare at the knight who’d been unnaturally quiet the whole while. Arthur had forgotten that he’d sent a passing Gwaine, no doubt on his way to the tavern, to alert Gaius of what was happening when he’d spotted him at the top of the steps. With all the fussing over Merlin, he and Gaius both had forgotten he was even there. Merlin seemed startled as well.

The king cleared his throat. “I dealt with them,” he said simply. He glanced back at Merlin, briefly catching the scrutiny in his eyes.

“How so?” Gwaine asked, pushing himself off the wall and meeting him in the center to the room.

Arthur swallowed, wary of Merlin’s presence. Then, he admitted, “I socked him in the jaw.”

The sigh of ridicule from the warlock was not misheard by any in the room.

“Don’t worry, mate,” Gwaine cheered, pulling up a stool and sitting next to him by the fire. “It’s a good thing. I would’ve dealt them far worse.”

Merlin scoffed. “I wouldn’t doubt it, Gwaine.”

“That’s a good lad,” he snickered, slapping Merlin on the back.

After Merlin was warmed up, the three of them decided that lunchtime was upon them. Gwaine _graciously_ volunteered to accompany them in their feasting, claiming it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the fact that the cooks favored Merlin and Arthur ever since their return from the caves, piling their plates high with fruits, meats, breads, and cheeses to make up for lost weight.

Of course, when they actually made it to the steamy, smothering room, the kitchen staff was all about them, offering up the best of Camelot’s dining.

Merlin sought out the soup and the stew, giving in to a few pieces of solid food that were thrust upon him. Arthur let Merlin gather his food as well, not wanting to eat much in the first place. He knew it was best to leave Merlin to the job, the servant understanding his discomfort so well. Gwaine, on the other hand was snatching up food left and right, taking every dish that Merlin turned down until his arms were laden with hefty loafs of meat and bread, hunks of fermented cheeses, apple concoctions, and he even thieved a tray of sweet rolls.

They all left with smiles on their faces, Merlin and Arthur amused by Gwaine’s eager appetite. They favored the seclusion of Arthur and Merlin’s shared chambers over anyplace else, where judgmental eyes might spy.

The mischievous knight entertained his liege and his lord with the usual abnormalities he’d lived through in his traveling years and even beyond that.

Arthur smiled down at the plate Merlin arranged for him, appreciating the lack of meat. He’d sported him with a good deal of fruit and bread. He’d even snuck a few boiled eggs onto his plate, not to mention the confiscation of Gwaine’s sweet rolls.

Merlin watched merrily as Arthur emptied his plate. He never ate all that he was given anymore, but he’d taken in a mighty fraction of the food he’d gotten him today. Merlin noted the way the eggs disappeared and how Arthur sucked at the seed of his pear, remembering to use them in future meals. He finished his own soup with vigor, feeling hungry after the incident in the courtyard, and even ate his bread as he scrapped it against the side of his bowl to wet it in the remains of the stew.

It was the most either of them had eaten in a long time and they were all grateful. However, as Gwaine was in the midst of telling a thrilling tale involving the arrest of a bearded woman and the flight of a rather small dog, he lifted up a cumbersome chicken leg and held it out, using it as a pointer, gesturing to Arthur.

“And not even _you_ could have held off that woman! I tell ya! She had a grip stronger than Percival!”

But Arthur wasn’t listening. He was looking down the length of a meaty bone that made his stomach turn.

“Arthur,” Merlin called worriedly as he noticed the way the king’s eyes danced around it, trying and failing to look away as the gesture reminded him of how Merlin had initially introduced him to a gruesome eating habit. “Gwaine, stop!” Merlin ushered urgently, swatting the chicken away as he stood to try and avert Arthur’s gaze.

Gwaine looked on, slightly offended, but quickly realized he had made some sort of mistake. He tossed the leg back onto his plate before rounding the table and joining Merlin by the king’s side.

“I’m fine,” Arthur ground out, holding up a hand to stop Gwaine from assisting Merlin. He looked down at his lap, trying to swallow down the sick that tried its way up his throat.

“Drink,” Merlin said, lifting a cup to Arthur’s lips.

Arthur took it and gulped it down. Merlin sighed with relief that Arthur hadn’t lost the much needed meal.

Gwaine, as slow and distracted as he may be, eventually caught on, recalling the telltales that had circulated about the castle, telling of Merlin’s sacrifice. He gulped hard, his own stomach clenching. He couldn’t have imagined having to eat another person, especially not a friend, not _Merlin._

He spun around and took the meat off his tray, wrapping it in a nearby towel and tossing it to the floor in a bundle. Then he strode form the room, casting a worrisome glance back at his companions.

He returned moments later with a fretting Gaius at his heels. However, the sight that greeted them was one of extreme normalcy. Merlin was tidying up by haphazardly, tossing sodden clothes into a basket. Arthur was at his desk, going through his papers and signing anything that needed signing, drafting what needed to be drafted.

“Is everything alright, sire?” Gaius asked as he ventured into the room.

“Oh, Gaius,” Arthur greeted, as if he hadn’t expected the man’s presence. “Yes, why?”

Gwaine and Gaius shared a bewildered look before turning back to the scene before them. Gwaine sought out the meat he had thrown but found that it was missing, as was the rest of their dishes, save for the water pitcher and a few goblets.

“What happened?” Gaius asked, finding the calm feel of the room strangely unnerving.

“Nothing happened, Gaius,” Arthur replied casually.

“But . . .”

“Gaius, really,” Merlin insisted with a beaming smile. “In fact, Arthur ate more than usual today, as did I. Gwaine’s company really helped us distract ourselves. To be honest, our health goes to him.”

Both knight and physician looked utterly lost at the claim but slowly backed out of the room with wary partings.

“You sure, you’re alright?” Gwaine questioned with his head still peeping around the door ajar.

“Of course,” Merlin and Arthur said in unison, both smiling reassuringly as they looked up from their work.

Nodding and pursing his lips in slight resentment, Gwaine slowly closed the door and left.

The two of them immediately paused in their work and smiled back at each other, grateful that the passing maid could have so quickly disposed of the leftover food they had given her so suddenly. They both fully intended to break their act the moment Gwaine and Gaius had left, only pretending things were so usual in order to avoid and uncomfortable talk with Gaius, likely about the traumas of cannibalism, but they somehow found that they couldn’t. They just kept on doing what they were doing. Merlin went on to scrub Arthur’s boots, sitting on the floor between his desk and the fire. Arthur sifted through his papers absentmindedly, listing to the scratch of cloth against leather. And, for that moment, things were as they should be, as they always had been.

They did this, unwavering and unbroken, far into the day until the sun was well along its decent in the sky. Merlin would trip and Arthur would insult him and the banter would grow from there, one chastising the other, the recipient with a quick retort hot on his tongue. It was bliss to them, to be alone and pretend that all that had happened was but a cruel fantasy to be forgotten like a child’s nightmare. Of course there were differences and every few moments they would be reminded of the cruel reality of it all. Merlin would bend down to pick up a sock or a shirt and steal a glance at his new boots, recalling how they’d been burnt for their own warmth. Arthur would spot Merlin’s bed and belongings on the far side of the room and quickly look away, as if he was expected to return to Gaius any moment now. They would shift where they stood and be reminded of how thin they had both gotten. But they feigned it all for their own sake, longing for the way they used to be, unbound by soul but at each other’s side all the same.

It was like a therapy, not prescribed and made up all on their own, but it was working. They could still be as they used to be, despite the challenges, despite the loose fitting clothes, despite the emptiness that often plagued their stomachs, despite the weariness that clearly existed under their façade. None of it mattered. Merlin was still Merlin, Arthur’s loyal servant in every form of the word. Arthur was still Arthur, the noble king that looked to Merlin for advice and trusted entirely.

They had something, something that no two people had ever had before. It was a foreign thing, something not even they truly understood; a love beyond brotherly, beyond the romance between them and their lovers. It was a deep and thorough understanding of one another, the kind that enabled them to convey an entire message with just a look, a feeling through the most miniscule of gestures. Somehow, through these small hints and hues of conversation that, to anyone else, would appear to be absent, they both came to the same conclusion. They were soul mates, if in the most strange and twisted way ever thought possible, always meant to be by the other’s side, spell regardless.

The irony of it struck them both simultaneously and they both broke out into face splitting grins, their smiles wider than they had been in a long time, teeth bared between their cheeks and eyes crinkling around the strain of it. The silence that filled the room was peaceful, content, and neither of them could stop the gleam in their eyes that had returned after so long being dimmed by their despair. It was tranquil.

Suddenly, they were yanked cruelly from their dreams by the heavy thunk of footfall outside their door, growing closer and closer with a feel of urgency. They looked to each other, knowing that something must be amiss. They both had that dreadful turning feeling in their gut as Leon burst through the door, sweat filming his brow and breath coming in exasperated pants.

Arthur was on his feet in and instant, striding across the room to meet him, Merlin on his heel.

“Leon,” he addressed, concern in his tone.

“Sire,” Leon breathed, dread and anxiety dripping from his words, “it’s her. It’s Morgana. She’s been sighted.”


	12. Pillar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin must plan for Morgana's attack.

Dawn broke and all the knights were gathered about the round table, dreadful information pressing on their minds. Neither Merlin nor Arthur had slept well the night before, the news of Morgana’s reappearance stirring their fears as they slumbered, causing dreadful nightmares and vicious memories. From the looks of the men gathered around them, the knights had had a troublesome night as well. Every person present seemed to sport a pair of dark rimmed eyes, heavy with sleep and sparkling with a fearful determination to diminish the threat that loomed closer than ever.

“She was sighted from afar, commanding an army of countless men and women, knights and sorcerers alike. Saxons and mercenaries mostly, but also rogue Druids and outcast witches. That, and what’s left of Cenred’s army, it would seem,” Leon had told them. “She pillaged one of our outlying villages; purged it of all life. Not one person survived.”

“What direction are they marching from?”

“The west, Sire,” Leon replied. “She lies just before the White Mountains.”

“The White Mountains?” Merlin questioned. “She’s that close?”

“Yes,” Leon gravely confirmed.

“Where was she hiding the army? All those people, where could they have gone? Surely she would have been sighted before now?”

“She _does_ have powerful magic,” Leon said. “Is it possible that she could have masked their presence?”

Merlin considered it for a moment. “I-I don’t know,” he said, frustrated.

“With so many magic users on her side, I doubt Camelot’s walls would be able to withstand the attack,” Leon continued.

“So we’ll ride out and meet them,” Arthur supplied.

“With what men?” Merlin countered. “They outnumber us by hundreds. There’s no way we can hold our ground. And if she outflanks us—“

“She won’t,” Arthur interrupted. “In order to reach Camelot she must pass through the mountains. Which paths are large enough to allow passage for an army of this size?”

“Only this one, sire,” Percival answered, pulling a map closer to him and pointing out the path in question.

“And where is it at its narrowest?”

“Here,” he said, pointing again. “It’s surrounded by cliffs on either side. There is no way that they could escape.”

“Then there is where we shall make battle,” Arthur declared.

“That still doesn’t change the fact that they will overpower us,” Merlin pointed out.

“No,” Arthur agreed, “but we can hold them off. We will hold our ground long enough for them to be forced into retreating. They can’t supply an army of that size for long, not in those conditions. In this way, our size will be our strength.”

There was a silent agreement amongst the men around him. But a dreadful thought stirred in all their minds. Finally, Percival voiced it.

“How are we meant to defend ourselves against her magic?”

Instead of turning to their king, all eyes were on Merlin, including Arthur’s. He took a deep breath and thought about what could be done, but there was no way he could defend against every sorcerer single handedly and, without their own magic, the knights would be defenseless.

“The Druids,” he said. He cleared his throat. “They are loyal to me. I will ask them if they are willing to fight. Perhaps they could aid us.”

“And if they do not?” Leon countered.

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t know.

“And even if they do,” another knight challenged, “how will you contact them?”

There was a tense silence and Merlin placed his hands on the edge of the table, leaning on it for support as he thought, completely lost as to what else he could possibly do.

“Merlin?” Arthur said, reinforcing the question. Another moment passed before his head shot up in revelation.

“The cave!” he breathed, turning to Arthur. “The cave where we met Iseldir!”

“Merlin,” the king sighed. “It’s been months since we were last there. I’m sure they’ve moved on by now.”

“No, I know!” Merlin said, almost excitedly. “Not them, the pillar! Maybe we can use it to contact them; contact them _all!”_

“Are you meaning to say that you have a way of speaking to _every_ Druid at once?” Gwaine asked, an amused smirk on his face.

“Not for sure,” Merlin admitted, “but it’s our best shot.”

“Even so,” Leon interjected, “we can’t afford a detour. If we wait too long Morgana’s army will have already breached the pass by the time we meet them.”

“No,” Arthur denied, “it’s on the way. It lies just north of our path, an hour’s ride before we reach the mountains. If we send Merlin there with a small patrol then it will not deter our arrival at all.”

“But you cannot leave Merlin’s side,” Leon pointed out, as if he had forgotten, “and there’s no way for us to tell how far away the Druids may be. It may take them _days_ to reach the pass.”

“Not if they travel by magic,” Merlin said, “and I have no doubt they will in such urgency.”

“Then it is settled,” Arthur stated, placing a triumphant hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Percival, what is the name of the pass?”

“It is Camlann, sire,” Percival answered.

The silence was _deadly_ about them now as both Merlin and Arthur looked at him in disbelief. Arthur felt Merlin stiffen and he tightened his grip on his shoulder, desperate to reassure the boy.

“No,” Merlin refused, shaking his head. “No, we cannot face them there.”

The knights all shared confused looks. “Why?” Leon asked carefully. “It is the best—“

 _“No,”_ Merlin said, more persistently. “I will not allow Arthur to be taken to this place.”

“Merlin,” Arthur warned, squeezing his shoulder once more. To his dismay, Merlin just shrugged it off.

“No,” he said again, facing his king. “Arthur, you _know_ we cannot go there! If we face them of at Camlann then the prophecies will only come true. I will not allow you to _die!”_

The knights all bit their tongues at this revelation, seeing the direness of the situation.

Arthur shook his head. “We have to Merlin,” he whispered, though the room was so silent that all could hear. “It is the only way to protect Camelot.”

“No,” Merlin said once more, barely audible. His eyes were bright with unshed tears. _“Please_ Arthur . . . I can’t . . .”

“I am sorry, Merlin,” Arthur murmured, replacing his hand on Merlin’s shoulder in reassurance. “All we can do is hope for the best.”

 

 

Merlin’s distress after hearing the name Camlann struck worry into the hearts of the knights. They all eyed Merlin and Arthur warily as their troop of men rode behind their commander, curious as to what doom would await them on the battle field.

I would take a whole two days to reach the pass and Morgana’s men would likely come upon them the night they arrived so they needed to make good time in order to prepare their stand. Gathering provisions and supplies had been a stressful task, everyone fretting over what could and could not be done to ensure that minimal lives were lost.

Gwen rode beside Arthur and Gaius beside Merlin, all silent with fright and resentment. Merlin wouldn’t look at anyone, his eyes always downcast, staring vacantly at the rode ahead. Arthur worried over him, sharing concerned looks with Gaius whenever Merlin was spoken to, only to give suggestive noises or shrugs as replies.

Eventually, Leon took it upon himself to ride up between Arthur and Merlin, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Sire,” Leon asked, waiting for his king to acknowledge him, “what awaits us as Camlann?”

Arthur cringed as he saw Merlin stiffen on his horse at the name. “I am not certain Leon,” he answered truthfully, “but I assure you, this shall be our most difficult battle yet.”

“What of Merlin?” Leon continued, nodding in the warlock’s direction. “What has caused his suspicions?”

“A prophecy,” Merlin uttered before Arthur could reply. “I hoped never to hear that name again and now we’re riding willingly to the place like climbing into the jaws of a beast.”

“What prophecy?”

Merlin looked away from Leon, eyes going distant again as he recalled the words given to him by the brave Finna. _“Let loose the hounds of war. Let the dread fire of the last priestess rain down from angry skies. For brother will slaughter brother. For friend will murder friend. As the great horn sounds a cold dawn at Camlann. The prophets do not lie. There Arthur will meet his end, upon that mighty plain."_

The dread in Merlin’s voice and the darkness in his eyes when he looked back at them, caused all who saw him to shiver with an array of emotions. There was something wrong about the boy, like he had been hollowed out and was struggling to stay full of his own mind. It was as if he was losing his self.

“And,” Leon continued hesitantly, “you think this will come to pass?”

Merlin took a large breath and let out a long sigh. Then, he looked over Leon and met Arthur’s eyes. “No prophecy or vision I have ever seen has not come to pass. As much as I may wish it, not even _I_ can prevent what destiny has chosen for us now.”

“Merlin,” Gaius said from beside him, “you must have faith. The future is not set in stone.”

“You’ve told me that, Gaius,” Merlin replied bitterly. “And against your words, the visions I saw were unpreventable.”

“So you’re just going to give up?” Arthur questioned, incredulously, looking at Merlin like he’d lost a good friend.

“No,” Merlin denied. “No, I will not give up, not now. I will do everything in my power to protect you, Arthur. I only fear that I am doomed to fail. So, if you fall at Camlann,” he paused and swallowed his words, “my life will be over. But I’ll be damned if I don’t try to stop it. I only wished you wouldn’t come.”

Arthur cast his eyes away, guilt creeping up his chest. It was a strange feeling, feeling guilty of your own death, but it was well placed. He knew Merlin’s fears of being left behind and he had just condemned himself to be the first of his family that he lost, knowing he would never join them in whatever otherworldly place that would succeed them.

 

 

Tents stood out amongst the dark clearing, the torches inside making them glow like lanterns. They’d made camp just short of the White Mountains and planned to send a small patrol to the pillar with Merlin and Arthur to call the Druids.

“I really wish you would have stayed,” Arthur admitted, holding Guinevere close outside their tent.

“I couldn’t, Arthur,” Gwen replied. “I can’t sit and wait for someone who might not return. I needed to see you off, be with every lasting second that I can. You’re too important to me.”

“I understand,” Arthur whispered. “I just think you would have been safer back at Camelot.”

Arthur didn’t miss the way Merlin stiffened beside him upon realizing that the king was not making any effort to deny what Guinevere had said. He too was submerged in the doubt that he would return to Camelot alive and Merlin felt his hope trickling away faster than ever.

 

 

When most of their troop was asleep, Arthur and Merlin were the only ones left sat by the fire, sharing a long moment of silence as they both drowned in the thoughts of their impending doom.

“I think you should go back,” Merlin said, gazing into the flames wistfully. “We can call the Druids to our aid and then we’ll take Gwen back home, keep you out of battle.”

Arthur spared Merlin a glance before saying, “No, Merlin. You know me too well to think that I’d leave my men to face this on their own. I have to be there for my people.”

A resigned sigh escaped Merlin’s chest. “It was worth a try,” he huffed.

 

 

Merlin slept in a tent with Gwaine, much to his disapproval. He claimed that he would be fine on his own but Arthur insisted that he have a tent mate to keep him company. With his own tent practically pressed up against his to avoid disturbing their souls, Arthur slept peacefully with Gwen at his side.

Whilst Merlin fell asleep to the sound of ongoing chatter from a slightly intoxicated knight, Arthur bed Guinevere, treasuring the moments he had with her, fearing the truth in Merlin’s worries. If this was to be the last time he slept with the one person he truly loved, then he would honor the opportunity, for it was a gift.

 

 

Dawn came and Arthur picked Gwaine and Percival to accompany them on their journey to the pillar while he ordered the rest of his army to meet them where the paths crossed again. And so, the four of them ventured north until they were on a path parallel to the main road.

“Are you sure about this?” Arthur asked in a hush as they neared where the pillar would be.

“We need magic on our side, Arthur,” Merlin confirmed.

“Merlin, the last time you touched this thing you were a mess of limbs thrashing about in the dirt!” Arthur reminded him.

“This is different,” Merlin assured.

“But how will you know how to use it?”

“My belief is that it’s powered by thought,” Merlin admitted.

“Oh yes,” Arthur mused, “and you’re mind is _so very_ stable.”

“Relax, Arthur,” Merlin sighed, “I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t buy that for one minute,” Arthur scoffed.

It was then that the large, stone pillar came into view, prodding out just above the treetops. The four of them doubled their speed, eager to arrive and ensure that the Druids were on their side.

“Iseldir said that it was dangerous,” Arthur warned as Merlin dismounted and took a few steps towards the monument.

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed, not paying the comment much mind.

“He said the first man to have ever used it was—“

“Was sapped of all his powers, yes. I know,” Merlin finished as he lingered closer.

A pang of discomfort wriggled about in Arthur’s chest so he jumped from his mount as well, leaving his sword behind and putting himself closer to Merlin so that their souls would calm.

“But _he_ was trying to bring about world peace, an impossible feat,” Merlin continued. “I doubt I’ll be in much danger doing something as meager as calling out to the Druids.”

Arthur swallowed his nerves and spoke no more as Merlin stood only a single step away from the large, towering stone that looked far more ominous than he’d remembered.

Merlin held out his hands and took a deep breath. Just before he leaned in to place his palms on the smooth, pale rock, he looked over his shoulder at Arthur. “Besides,” he said with a grin, “It’s not as if it can kill me.”

Power surged through him as he touched the cool, hard stone before him. It twanged and panged into his fingertips and up his arm, fluttering about inside him wildly. It was as overwhelming as it had been before and he struggled to restore order inside himself.

The world glazed over and all he could see was the pillar and his own hands as it made his magic cycle in and out. The stone under his palms seemed to feel even colder than it had before as if it were yelling at Merlin to use it, readying itself to amplify his will.

And then all he did was think, forcing the jumble of thoughts in his head to settle until he could pick out one single mission; to call the Druids.

The pillar obeyed him and suddenly he felt as if he were everywhere at once, inside a thousand different minds. Voices and thoughts mingled together in his head and he fought to keep his sanity from the terror of it. He struggled to regain his focus. He thought of Arthur, used the idea of him to channel his message. And then he spoke to them.

_Please, I would not have called out to you if this was not of utter importance. The great battle for Albion is growing near and not even I can defeat Morgana on my own. Please, know that the life of the one and future king is at stake. All who are idle and able, please, come to my aid or I fear the future may be lost._

Merlin let go. He drifted back into his own mind, not wanting to hear the roaring response of so many people. Before he managed to leave, however, he did hear a mingling of words; people calling back to him, praising him. _Emrys._

And then it all just stopped. The world came back to him as he realized that he had sunk to his knees. He was breathing frantically, eyes wide whilst they were still fixed on the figure in front of him. Slowly, he receded shaking hands and let a small breath of exhaustion escape his lips.

“Merlin,” Arthur called out worriedly as he rushed to meet him. He met him by the pillar, kneeling down to meet his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Did it work?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

Arthur lifted Merlin onto weak, trembling feet. Deeming him too frazzled to walk on his own, he swung his arm around his neck to help steady him.

He walked Merlin back over to where the two knights were still waiting. The warlock looked curiously up at them as he staggered along, noticing the strange, wide eyed looks they gave him.

“What?” Merlin questioned.

“You . . . Your . . .” Percival muttered, pointing at Merlin.

“Your eyes are still glowing Merlin, like last time,” Arthur clarified.

“Oh,” Merlin laughed, bringing a hand up to his face as if he could check, “it’ll be gone in a little while. It’s just that that thing really riles up my magic.”

“At least you didn’t pass out this time,” Arthur huffed, setting Merlin down on a log and uncapping a waterskin for him to drink from.

Merlin scoffed as he took the drink. Gwaine smiled down at him, looking a bit too pleased with himself for having such an odd friend. But then, as a long moment passed without any occurrences, he spoke up.

“So, eh, when are the _magic folk_ meant to show up?”

Merlin shrugged as he gulped down another sip of the water. “You never can know with them,” he grumbled in complaint.

“It looks like your eyes are returning to normal a lot faster than before,” Arthur pointed out, noticing that Merlin’s irises had dimmed slightly already.

Merlin hummed with indifference through the bladder that was pressed against his lips. Then, he finally drew it away from his mouth and smacked his lips, wiping at the dribble as he got to his feet.

“This way,” Merlin said suddenly as he stumbled his way through the brush. “And, uh, leave your weapons behind, unless you want to walk _around_ the grounds.”

Percival and Gwaine looked to Arthur for permission before leaving their swords with their horses, noticing for the first time that Arthur had already abandoned his.

“It’s sacred ground,” Arthur explained as they walked.

The knights nodded in understanding as they followed after Merlin, not entirely certain he was sane enough to be leading them anywhere.

Finally, after struggling through a rather thick line of closely grown trees, Merlin stopped and his arms dropped to his sides in awe. Arthur and the nights popped through the brush after him, their jaws dropping at the sight in front of them.

There, amongst the trees, were thousands of men and women, young and old, standing before them. Then, upon seeing their mighty Emrys, they all dropped to one knee and bowed before the greatest sorcerer ever known.

“Bloody hell, Merlin,” Gwaine sputtered as he finally broke free form a branch that had snagged him.

It was clear that the warlock himself was at least slightly overwhelmed, if not entirely. He was just standing there, stock still, eyes gazing over the vast sea of people. There were so many Druids, loyal to his destiny, that he could not see them all as they disappeared amongst the far off trees, hidden by distance.

Suddenly, Merlin let out a sharp laugh and Arthur marveled at the renewed hope he saw sparkle in his eyes.

The celebration was a short one for none other than Iseldir himself stepped forward to speak with Merlin after the Druids had all risen from their bow.

“Emrys,” he greeted, a ghost of a smile on his constantly neutral face.

Merlin eyed the man warily, remembering what he had forced him to do last time he had come to the pillar. However, he pushed past it and nodded his head in greeting.

“These people are yours to command,” Iseldir stated. “Each and every one of these people have devoted their lives to Albion. We will do whatever is in our power to aid you.”

Merlin gulped. “Thank you,” he rasped.

There was a long silence, mostly composed of more awe, before Gwaine, being himself, decided to break the peace.

“So, how on earth are we going to get this many people to the White Mountains by noon?”

A rare thing happened then. Iseldir smiled. “We shall travel using the same means we used to come before you now.”

“Magic,” Merlin concluded, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement.

“Are you able to do that, Merlin?” Percival asked from behind him.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Merlin huffed.

And that was how Percival and Gwaine both found themselves holding tight onto the hands of random Druids before disappearing entirely. With promises to meet Emrys within the mountains, Iseldir too vanished.

“Hold on tight,” Merlin said, taking Arthur’s hand. “I’m not entirely sure I know how this works!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, despite the fact that he was indeed holding Merlin’s hand with bone crushing strength in fear that he might be thrown into the wind somewhere between where they were and their destination. “You really are an enormous idiot, aren’t you?”

“Most of the time,” Merlin agreed with a lopsided grin. He took a deep breath and looked at Arthur with eyes that were now a vibrant, unnatural green. Then, with a flash of their usual gold, they were suddenly someplace else.

Arthur’s eyes widened at the sight before him. The Druids had begun to set up camp amongst the rocky terrain which was far different from the verdant wood he had been in only moments ago. He was pulled from his musings, however, when Merlin groaned beside him.

With a hand to his head, Merlin stumbled until he found a rock to lean on.

“Quickly,” Iseldir urged, approaching them with haste, “get him inside. He should not have performed magic so soon after using the pillar.”

Arthur didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately hefted Merlin up helped him walk to one of the few tents that were already completed. Inside, he laid him down on a bedroll.

Merlin moaned and slowly moved his head to the side, pressing his temple into the ground as if it would rid him of his aches. Then, he opened his bleary eyes. Arthur stood back in worry.

His eyes were flickering in and out, growing bright for a moment before dimming back to green and the occasional blue that they were meant to be.

“What’s happening?” Arthur asked, turning to the Druid.

“He doesn’t have full control of his powers with the pillar’s influence,” Iseldir replied. “Using it while in this state has caused him some minor pain but he should be well with some rest.”

“Why didn’t you warn him?” Arthur accused, as the man finished laying a blanket atop of Merlin.

But Iseldir only spared Arthur a blank look before he turned and left the two destined heroes alone.

Arthur spent the time waiting for the rest of his army to arrive grumbling under his breath and silently proclaiming that the Druid was possibly the most infuriating ally he’d ever had to cooperate with.

He sent Gwaine and Percival back to meet the Camelot troops in order to ensure that they came to the right place. It wasn’t until just before noon that Merlin woke up, his eyes a relieving blue.

“Gods, Merlin,” Arthur huffed, “you’ve been out for hours!”

Merlin put a hand to his head as he sat up. “I _feel_ like I’ve been out for _days,”_ he mumbled. A moment passed as he slowly came to his senses, and then he let out a long dejected sigh. “I’m going to throttle that man. He never tells me anything outright. He’s worse than the dragon!”

Arthur scoffed as he handed Merlin a waterskin and watched him drink greedily at the cool liquid.

 

 

Merlin and Arthur greeted Sir Leon and the rest of the army at noon when they were expected. Leon was amazed at how many Druids were ready and willing to help. Merlin still walked a bit lopsided, claiming that, between the pillar and the traveling spell, his mind had become extremely muddled.

Battle plans were arranged, strategies of war flying form mouth to ear, being revised over and over again by everyone to ensure that their plan was as solid as possible. The day dragged on and the closer night came the heavier Merlin’s heart felt. Though the Druids’ assistance did lift his spirits, his hopes were slowly slipping away as the inevitable battle drew closer, looming in the approaching darkness, taunting him like it held his fate on a string.

Arthur found himself looking at Merlin, _really_ looking at him. He observed every move he made and studied every word he gave him, trying so hard to find out what he was thinking. But he already knew. He knew from the moment he heard the word Camlann what Merlin was thinking. In his mind, all hope was lost. But that didn’t stop him. He took Merlin in, let everything he knew about the boy consume him, desperately trying to find something in his memories, in his gestures, in his composure, in his words, in his eyes, in his very existence that might elude to some farfetched hope that was still alive inside him. But Arthur found none. Whatever was left of Merlin had given up. He tried to hide it, Arthur knew he did, but he could see straight through him. And Arthur couldn’t help but feel just as lost.

He didn’t mind the idea of dying for his people, for his kingdom, but Merlin made him question everything. He was tempted to listen to his advice when he’d offered to take him home, hidden away from the fray. He honestly was but he couldn’t. As much as it hurt him to see Merlin waste away, he still couldn’t abandon his duty to Camelot. This was his destiny. Merlin had said it himself. He can’t avoid destiny. It is law. It is permanent. It cannot be unwritten. So, was he not meant to die by Mordred’s hand? If not now than when? If he waited, Albion would be postponed. The peace he strived to create would be belated. What was his life in comparison to the freedom of thousands? The life of one small man such as himself would mean little to the masses but his death would be the foundation of legends. It was the most noble of deeds and yet Arthur didn’t care about the nobility of it. He cared about the outcome. His name could never be spoken again throughout all of history and he would be content because he would live on through all the lives he sparred in winning this war.

His mind was made up. If he was to die then he was to die. The only regret he’d leave behind is Merlin. His heart ached whenever their eyes met because he could already see the life leave Merlin’s eyes. The man who could not perish would become the walking dead, existing but never living, an empty shell left without a purpose.

And suddenly Arthur wished he didn’t know Merlin so well. He wished he hadn’t dissected his every thought and lived his every moment. It was not his to have and it was forced upon him. If he hadn’t known Merlin’s mind, he wouldn’t have felt so horrid at the thought of leaving him behind. He’d have imagined Merlin living on without him, taking care of Gwen and the knights, remaining loyal to his friends and making new ones. But now, now Arthur didn’t know what he thought. There was no way to decipher what would become of the boy when all of this was over. All he knew was that it would be painful.

Out of all the people in the world, Merlin deserved to die the most. He deserved the relief of it, to escape the pain of the mortal world and yet he was the only soul who couldn’t. Merlin didn’t find pleasure in gold or power or wealth of any kind. He found joy in friendship, in people, in the feelings and emotions that traveled from person to person, thrumming through the air and just simply making the world _move._ But, with a life everlasting, he could not enjoy that. Over time it would become dull and fade. When once a smile would seem capable of moving mountains and saving lives, it would soon become nothing but a mask that Merlin knew would never last.

Nothing would be permanent, nothing except Merlin. People could change the world. Merlin knew this. Hell, he lived for it. But, if a person lives too long, they will find that that change does not matter for whatever impact they made will be lost over time. Whatever is changed shall be changed again and again and again and again until there is nothing left of what once was and what had been done. Heroes become names in a story book and worlds become echoes beneath the pavement of the future.

Merlin was already bracing himself for Arthur’s death. He was struggling not to mourn him before he was gone but could not help it. Arthur saw enough of what Merlin had been through to know how he would feel. Though Arthur hated to credit himself in such ways, he knew that he gave Merlin a purpose. He saw the way Merlin had lived before he came to Camelot. He saw the way he was shunned and ridiculed. He saw the way he had to lie and hide just to keep his skin on his back. He saw the way He was beaten and bruised and told that he had no worth. He saw the way he had hated himself, tried to mutilate himself, suppressing all that he was to try and be accepted. He saw the way he felt better off dead before he found out about his destiny. He saw the way things slowly got better as life went on in Camelot. He saw the way Merlin smiled through his heart ache. He saw the way hope shone out from behind scars and scrapes and bruises. He saw how much he meant to Merlin. And he meant more to Merlin than a person could because he was more than just a man to him. He was more than a mighty king. He was more than a good friend. He was more than a soul mate. He was more than any person could possibly comprehend being. To Merlin, Arthur was all that he was. Arthur was the mark he left on the world. Arthur was what kept him from slipping back into that depression that plagued him as a child. Merlin, the most powerful being in existence, capable of outliving dragons and bending the elements to his will, thought that Arthur, a small, mortal king, was the greatest thing the world had to offer. And that scared him. As much as it honored Arthur it really _scared_ him. Because now he was watching as Merlin’s will slowly died because of it. But there was nothing he could do.

And, as Morgana’s army began to appear at the other end of the passage, snow began to fall. It coated everything in a blissful, white scene. The warriors of Camelot could do nothing as Morgana’s forces tore through it, destroying the clean, smooth surface that glistened in the moonlight. And, as Arthur looked to Merlin, he saw the way the light flakes stuck to his lashes. He couldn’t help but imagine that the drop of melted snow that dripped down his cheek was taunting him, reminding him of the real tears that would be shed for years to come because of his destiny.

That was what Arthur left behind, his mark on the world. It wasn’t a great kingdom or peace throughout the lands. It was the salt stains on Merlin’s cheeks. They would never die. They would never fade with the years because Merlin would always be there. He would continue on, watching as everything else Arthur did became nothing but glorious history, lost to time. But his tears would always be there. His tears would always fall. His tears would always be because of him.

And suddenly Arthur didn’t want to be remembered at all.


	13. Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle at Camlann begins.

Clad in chainmail and the cloak gifted to him by his king, Merlin stood beside Arthur in the predecessors of a battle that would decide the fate of Albion’s future. Snow flecked his hair and dampened his face as it coated the passage before them. The shadow of Morgana’s men loomed ever closer as the sky grew grey, seemingly concealing the rivaling armies in a realm of grim war.

Arthur looked to Merlin and, despite all that was around him, smiled. Merlin caught the gleam in Arthur’s eye and turned to him in confusion.

“What is it?” he questioned.

“You,” Arthur sighed.

Merlin’s brow furrowed.

“You’re going to fight with me,” Arthur commented. “You, the one who keeps telling me that I’m destined to die here, are still going to fight, by my side. Why?”

Merlin sighed, letting the brisk air sting in his nostrils. “It is my destiny to protect you Arthur . . . but it is also my will. Even if the whole world would be swallowed by the jaws of death because of your actions, I would still be here, at your side the whole way.”

Arthur nodded. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Knowing how the battle is going to end,” Arthur clarified.

Merlin shook his head. “We don’t know how this battle is going to end, Arthur. No one does. We _may_ know a few prophetic events within the fray, but we have no insight as to what this war will mean for the whole of Albion. Regardless of what the prophecies say, we can still win this, despite the . . . _sacrifices_ that must be given in order to please the sisters of fate.”

“You are _wise,_ Merlin,” Arthur said softly. “And you are brave and loyal. Part of me wishes I could drag you down with me. I’d hate to part with such an admirable friend.”

Merlin looked to Arthur with round eyes. “I’d rather die with you than live to see a world without my king,” he admitted.

“I know,” Arthur rasped, smiling sadly back at him.

“How do you feel?” Merlin asked after a moment’s silence.

Arthur scoffed. “Tired.”

Merlin allowed a small smile at that. “I’d imagine it’d be exhausting,” he said, “to know your death is nigh.”

“It is.”

“What do you want to say?” Merlin quizzed.

“How do you mean?”

“You know you are going to die,” Merlin continued. “You have the opportunity to make a declaration.”

Arthur huffed. “It’s strange,” he said. “You’d think, as a king, I’d have something philosophical to brand myself with but . . . I don’t really know what to do.”

Merlin looked more directly at Arthur upon hearing the dismay in his tone. His heart ached for his king. He wished he only knew how to mend him.

“I don’t know what I want to do with my life,” Arthur confided. “I mean, I know that I want to bring peace to Albion but I don’t know what to _do._ It all just seems to be running at me. I’m going blindly into battle. I know how it will end and yet I don’t know what to expect. And what of last words? How does one choose how they want to be remembered? It seems so pointless in the end. Words can mean anything if you say them right. Hell, I could declare my love for _pickled eggs_ with my dying breath but it wouldn’t change what brought me to my knees. It appears to me that words are without meaning when one is dying. They’ll be left behind as the world moves on and soon those last few words will be nothing but whispers amongst the roar of the present, soon to be forgotten entirely.

“I don’t feel ready, Merlin. I am not wise enough to put into words all that is needed to be said, especially to you. You will carry my words further than any other man and they will weigh heavier in your heart than in anyone else’s. I know you too well, my friend. Whatever I say to you will burn in the back of your mind for years to come. I hope not to scorch you with words that mean nothing.

“I guess it all just feels unreal, like none of this is actually happening. It doesn’t feel like the endgame. It feels more like I’m going to wake up in a week back at home with the sun raining down to dry away the damage done by this bloody storm.

“I just . . . I have this foreknowledge that nobody else has, Merlin. Whatever is done today will shape the way you carry on through your struggles and I don’t know how to deal with that. I think the worst thing throughout all of this is the fact that I don’t want to leave you behind.”

Merlin’s looked up at his mention and eyed Arthur. He’d have thought that Arthur couldn’t have understood his immortality but it seemed as though he knew exactly what to say. Arthur knew that Merlin was envious of his ability to die, to be released from the suffering that Merlin would undoubtedly have to pain through forever. “You are wiser than you think, Arthur,” Merlin said with a woeful smile. Unlike most greedy kings, Arthur did not have any jealousy for Merlin’s immunity to death. Instead, he was sorry for it, empathetic. He was knowledgeable enough to know exactly what emotions Merlin was feeling. And he was right; he felt like he was being left behind.

 

 

If Arthur was right about one thing, it was the feeling that one has before they throw their life into a bloody fray; blind. As Morgana’s army drew closer, Arthur’s stood taller, as if all their fear left their heads and was instead running through their blood, pulsating in their veins, and driving them forwards.

A blur of colors surrounded Merlin as battle commenced. He kept his eyes on Arthur, magic dancing on his fingertips in case of an attack. He batted away sorcerers and warriors alike whenever he saw that Arthur could not hold them at bay. Like he always had, he stood in the background, saving the king’s life with the greatest gift he possessed.

But then there was a sheer cry that stung the ears of all who recognized it. It was Morgana. And she had a dragon.

“Aithusa!” Merlin cried as he recognized the young creature, crippled and hurting but fighting all the same. He bounded forwards as he watched the beast swoop down and claw at Arthur’s men and loyal Druids. “No!”

Arthur noticed Merlin’s efforts and made haste to stay by his side, pushing through the lines of men that stood against them. Aithusa was soaring up into the air, recovering from another swoop when they reached her.

Merlin looked up at her with angry eyes, standing tall on a protruding slab of rock whilst Arthur fought off the warriors that surrounded it. _“Stamatí̱ste!”_ Merlin bellowed, voice rumbling like the call of a dragon. _“Apódosi̱! Af̱tés eínai oi syngeneís sas! Pó̱s tolmás na tous prodó̱sei?_ _Mi̱n dínete sto skli̱róti̱ta Mornkána!”_

The dragon, practically glowing white against the dark sky, reeled away from Merlin, letting out a strangled roar of desperate apology before flying off and out of sight, disappearing over the tops of the mountains.

Morgana’s voice could be heard ringing through the battlefield once more, but it was without strength. It was a cry of weakness.

Then, without the need for the aid of words, Merlin’s eyes burned a golden hue and the men surrounding Arthur no longer over powered them, flying back with a flash of light, dead.

The battled continued similarly for what felt like an eternity. A pattern of magic and swordplay repeated itself as bodies fell. The bitter air around them was filled with screams of pain and roars of war. And Merlin listened to it, heard it all intensely. Blood stained Arthur’s sword and dyed the snow a sickly red, snow that was crushed and crunched beneath the hammering feet of soldiers charging. But there was another sound, another rhythm to which the snow was treaded on. It was a march, a march of a thousand men that were far from the heart of the battle. Merlin could hear this, coming from a far off path. They were being outflanked.

The warlock darted off in the direction of the path, a startled Arthur close on his heels. All who opposed them were left dead in their wake. Arthur called after Merlin, unknowing as to where they were rushing towards. But soon the entrance to the path became clear behind the fluttering curtain of snowfall and even Arthur could hear the distant march of enemy feet.

When they rounded a jagged boulder, they were met with the sight that they feared; a thousand warriors, young and old, marching towards them in a steady rhythm.

Merlin’s heart sank and a cold chill possessed him. There, leading the troop of soldiers attacking their flank, was Mordred.

The moment their eyes met the soldiers behind him charged forwards and raised their hands and their weapons in a raging confrontation. In fear for Arthur’s safety, Merlin muttered a spell, and every man fell to their knees before they crumpled to the ground. But Mordred stayed standing.

“No,” Merlin whispered to himself, not believing that the Druid boy could be able to resist his magic so easily. He stomped forward, standing before the young wayward child with an immense disliking. But what he found was not hatred or betrayal or sadness or even the slightest hint of want. His eyes were empty, dark, and without emotion.

“Merlin?” Arthur questioned as he came closer.

“What has she done to you?” Merlin murmured, looking woefully into the boy’s eyes, wishing he could see something there. But there was nothing. Morgana had purged Mordred of his will and his consciousness, leaving behind only her command and her bloodthirsty rage. Mordred was gone.

With a flash of his eyes, Mordred sent Merlin flying, flicked off to the side, head knocking against the ridge of the narrow passage before he slumped amongst the other bodies in the snow.

“Merlin!” Arthur called, running for his friend, but Mordred stopped him.

A blade in his path, Arthur spun to face his opponent, eyeing him warily. Mordred had been loyal. Mordred had been trusted. Mordred had been kind. But now Arthur saw what Merlin had. Mordred had been taken. Mordred was destroyed by whatever cruel methods Morgana had inflicted upon him.

Merlin’s vision danced as he lifted his head up off the ground. He eyed the scene before him with a lagging mind. Arthur held his sword at the ready, the shimmering blade prepared to strike a killing blow. But Arthur hesitated. Arthur did as Merlin had done and searched inside of him for any hue of what once was. But there was nothing left and Mordred’s blade came quicker.

“No!” Merlin shouted, scrambling across the slushed, rocky floor. He watched in horror as Arthur’s eyes filled with betrayal and struck Mordred across the heart, ridding the world of such a dark, empty shell. But when Merlin reached him, Arthur had sunk to his knees, clutching his side with what little strength was left to him.

“No. No, look at me,” Merlin rasped, placing his own hands on the red, angry flesh of Arthur’s side. “Keep your eyes open, Arthur! Look at me!”

Arthur’s lids drooped but his lashes continued to flutter in the struggle to look at Merlin. He gazed up at his friend with vacant eyes, not entirely comprehending what had happened.

“You’re going to be fine. We need to get you do Gaius. The medical tent is on the north side. He and Gwen will fix you up, alright?”

Arthur nodded slowly and pointlessly sheathed his sword with a wobbly arm. Then, he put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and pressed his forehead into the crook of Merlin’s neck. Merlin shook him but nothing came of it and he gently let Arthur’s limp form drop on top of the soft snow.

“Alright,” Merlin breathed, shaking and shuddering with the shock of it all and still talking to Arthur as if he could hear him. “Alright we have to do this now. I can do this, Arthur. You’ll be alright.” He placed his hands harder over the bloody wound, swallowing hard at the tears and pain that erupted within him, a desperation like no other he’d felt before. _“Gehælan. Aheardian forwel. Alibban,”_ he spelled, eyes turning a blinding gold as he poured himself into the healing magic.

The king stirred and some color returned to his face, but he did not heal. Though the blood had stopped oozing, the damage that was done would not undo itself. Merlin’s short lived relief was terminated by the sight of the wound that refused to close. He shook his head in denial, the short, unbelieving jerks of a madman, and turned in the snow.

Behind him, doused in his king’s blood, was Mordred’s sword.

He took it up and held it out above him. Looking up at it with dry, weary eyes, he collapsed inside, recognizing the look, the _feel_ of a dragon’s blade. He gulped, unsheathing his own sword and replacing it with Mordred’s, fumbling with the blades in his hands and nicking his fingers in the numb cold. Then, over weak knees, he lifted Arthur the best that he could, and he took him away.

 

 

Gwen and another volunteer took a lax Arthur from Merlin’s stunned arms as he approached the medical tent, frantically guiding him into the safe care of Gaius. Merlin watched them go, a biting pain pressing against the back of his eyes and base of his throat. He blinked. He blinked and hoped that a different scene might appear before him, but it did not. It would not.

He slowly followed their path into the tent, not really seeing anything as he went. Worried glances and assuring touches, he was numb to. He was unfeeling entirely. His legs mindlessly took him to where he had always needed to be; by Arthur’s side.

Gaius was bent over him, examining the wound and muttering instructions for those around him. Then, Merlin’s torpid fingers pulled at the hilt of Mordred’s blade before he placed it on the table beside his mentor, looking down at where he set it with trauma in his distant eyes.

He heard him speak but he said nothing in return as Gaius told Merlin what he had to do. The directions on how to save his king were absorbed into his mind without any real comprehension. He took the knowledge and latched onto it, wanting more than anything for the hope of his survival to be as possible as the old man made it sound.

He took Arthur back to the pillar, where he gathered their horses, and mounted him with care, tying him down and leading his steed with his own. They went slowly, too slowly. Merlin felt as though he was trudging through thick waters and he needed to go against the unrelenting current of time.

A fragment of Mordred’s blade was still within him. It was climbing through his flesh, inching towards his heart.

Merlin found a clearing, a space wide and open as he needed. He needed to travel to The Lake of Avalon, eastward, back towards Camelot. In the midst of the lake, there was tell of an ancient isle. Only there would there be any hope of saving the once and future king. Only there would Arthur be healed.

The weary warlock took his master in his arms and laid him in the soft snow. Dawn was approaching them and the sky became paler as the night was swept away. Merlin would have to call the dragon. He prepared himself, readied his tongue and his mind but he could not do it. He needed to speak to his king. So, he would wait. His shoulders slumped and he set up camp, building a small fire and using Arthur’s bedroll as a pillow for the invalid. He patiently waited, sitting by his side until the king awoke.

 

 

“Merlin?” Arthur called out in nothing but a whisper.

The boy was at his side immediately. Holding the king still and cupping his side to keep the wound from becoming too irritated.

“Lie back,” Merlin advised when he saw that Arthur had intensions of sitting up. “I’ll help you,” he assured, fetching more blankets from his horse and bringing them back to prop Arthur up against.

“Where . . . where are we?” Arthur questioned, eyes surveying the area as he coughed through weak breaths.

“A clearing just south of the mountains,” Merlin informed. “We’re safe here. It’s just morning now. You can rest a bit longer, if you like.”

“No,” Arthur replied.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Well you’re eating anyway,” Merlin countered, turning around to pull stew away from the fire. He helped Arthur to coax down the stew, spooning it into his mouth and wiping it from his chin. When he finished, he bid Arthur to drink and he did. Then, he sat silently beside the fire, staring down at the snow with pale blue eyes.

He could feel Arthur’s eyes on him, knowing that the king was left to his own wonders and ponderings, not knowing the full extent of what had happened to him. Merlin needed to talk to him. He needed to tell him what Morgana did. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t like what implications they carried.

“Mordred,” Arthur muttered after an immeasurable amount of time, “what was that?”

“You hesitated,” Merlin said dryly, not answering the question.

“What?”

“You hesitated,” he restated, looking up at Arthur this time. Arthur looked back at him, eyes swimming with emotions. He did not say anything so Merlin continued. “You hesitated and he dealt you a mortal blow.” He nodded to Arthur’s side, where his mail was still pierced and his clothes were still red. “Why did you hesitate?”

Arthur swallowed, the same familiar pain welling up in his own throat as he pushed back tears. “It was Mordred. There was something . . . I thought—“

“Mordred was gone!” Merlin shrieked suddenly. He took a deep shuddering breath before continuing in a calm, lost voice. “He was gone. Whatever Morgana did to him . . . there was nothing left. He was a soulless slave. Whoever he once was, loyal or not, was stolen and destroyed.” There was a long pause where Arthur wallowed in the guilt of his own undoing and Merlin drowned in the implications of it. “I told you to kill him.”

“I did,” was all that Arthur could say.

“You hesitated,” Merlin corrected. He sniffled and wiped his sleeve against his cold, pink nose.

Arthur looked at Merlin. His chainmail was gone. He saw it discarded on the other side of the fire, supposedly stripped off by the heat of the flames, leaving Merlin looking thin and small in his little blue shirt, draped in his cloak, because Arthur bid he wear it.

“His sword was forged in a dragon’s breath,” Merlin said suddenly. “I tried to heal you but . . . A fragment of the blade is still within you. Gaius tried to remove it . . . It’s making its way towards your heart. You’re going to die.”

“I know.”

“You can’t,” Merlin huffed.

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed. “We both knew what would become of me at Camlann. There is nothing left to do.”

“No,” Merlin said, shaking his head in the same jittery motion. “No, there is a way. Gaius knows of a way.”

Another lull plagued them. “What is it?”

Merlin waited a moment before saying, “The battle is won. Morgana’s army retreated. Camelot is victorious. Albion has been ensured.” He smiled a small, melancholy smile. It only lasted a mere moment.

“What is it?” Arthur asked again.

Merlin took a quick intake through the nose. “The Lake of Avalon,” he answered. “The magic there may be strong enough to rival the dragon’s blade.”

Arthur shook his head. “It’s too far, Merlin.”

The boy looked at Arthur again, an eyebrow raised. Then, without a word, he stood and took a few steps away from him.

Arthur watched with hopeless eyes as the dragon was called, giant and beautiful as its wings beat down on them, stirring the brisk air. Landing with a mighty shake of the earth, it spoke to Merlin.

“I see the battle of battles has begun,” Kilgharrah rumbled, eyeing the king’s prone form.

“Begun?” Merlin questioned. “The battle is won.”

“Ah,” the dragon retorted, “but the witch still lives. As long as she is alive, she will do everything in her power to prevent Albion from reining true.”

“But, without an army, what chance does she have?”

“She has every chance,” the beast warned, bowing his head to be closer to the warlock. “As long as the witch lives, the greed within her exists as well. Though you may have been soft in the past, you must know now that whomever you may have once known is gone. The Lady Morgana has lost her once kind soul as it has been twisted and morphed beyond recognition by the want for unwarranted revenge. There is nothing that will stop her from wanting Albion to herself.”

Merlin huffed. “And what of Arthur?”

Kilgharrah spared the king a glance. “He is dying.”

“But I can save him?”

The dragon bowed lower still. “The isle holds the only hope for your king.”

“Can you take me there?” Merlin questioned.

The beast sighed. “I can, young warlock. However, I fear that, no matter what aid I offer, it shall not alter the path that destiny has chosen for you.”

Merlin bit his lip but thanked the dragon with a short bow of his head.

“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin whispered as he put himself under his king’s weight. Arthur did nothing but look up at the dragon’s golden eyes and shimmering scales in awe as Merlin helped him to walk.

 

 

 Flying is nothing like he had imagined it. Like any child, Arthur had dreamt of what it would be like to soar as the birds did, wondering about the sights he could see from his view up above. But _this_ was entirely different. One could not _imagine_ the feeling of the wind as it bellowed around you, the weightless feeling that made you feel as if you were about to fall but were always rescued to safety at just the last moment.

Adrenalin infected him while the cool, morning air stung his skin and he sat up with little help from Merlin. He hollered and shouted at its magnificence, letting the breeze brush through his hair and chill through his clothes. It was exhilarating.

Merlin smiled at his friend, who had a grin against all odds. Arthur lie dying in his arms but he was hooting at the heavens for the thrill of flying. There was remorse in his eyes still, but he smiled because Arthur was happy. He was joyful in his time of dying.

 

 

“Arthur,” Merlin rasped, voice barely heard against the rush of the wind. “Look there! It’s the lake! We’re almost there.”

Arthur looked up from the ground below, where he had been marveling at the distant trees and fields, all laid out before him like a living map, and caught sight of the glistening waters up ahead. In the center of the lake was an isle. A great tower stood tall and proud in the middle of it, brandishing how ancient it was with every aged stone that it bore. It was beautiful.

But it did not last. Without warning, there was a flash of white before their eyes and an inhuman screech pierced their ears. Kilharrah cried out as he barreled from the impact, sending Merlin and Arthur into a freefall.

The world spun around him as he fell, catching glimpses of the ground and flashes of Arthur’s body falling above him against the sky. Then he saw it, the white dragon, bearing down on Kilgharrah as he too plummeted down. Merlin tried to steady himself in the air and he stopped spinning, falling instead with his arms out and looking up at his king’s silhouette. As the ground came to meet him and the trees seemed to wrap around him like greedy fingers, he managed one last spell that would land Arthur safely, but not himself.

 

 

The sky was dim when he woke. He blinked up at it, not entirely sure of what was happening or how much time had passed. He sat up, his bones aching as he looked around. He was surrounded by trees and, through them, he could see the shores of the lake.

“There’s still time,” he whispered to himself. He got up against the complaints of his healing body, scrambling for purchase against the hard ground. He noted briefly that he was covered in the grime of battle along with his own blood, bled in death. His whole body ached and his vision blurred. Something turned inside of him and he knew that Arthur was too far away for his soul to be at rest, but close enough that the pain was not so agonizing. His eyes darted around the woods, frantically trying to find his misplaced king. Then, he heard a soft, weak rumble that hummed through the ground.

He teetered through the brush and snow, fighting the thick forest until he saw the massive beast, collapsed atop a mound of fallen trees.

“Kilgharrah!” Merlin hissed, stumbling towards him, still feeling extremely uncoordinated. He practically flung his torso into the dragon’s snout and leaned on him heavily. Once his feet stilled and found their purchase in the slush, he began to run his hand along the bridge between the creature’s eyes, doing what little he could to ease his suffering.

“Merlin,” his deep voice boomed, though it sounded very strained and very tired.

The dragonlord before him took a shuddering breath, the death of such a magnificent being weighing heavily upon him. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, fighting tears as the ragged breath of the dying filled the air.

“There is something you must promise me,” Kilgharrah said, voice far lighter and kinder than Merlin had ever heard it before, “young warlock.”

Sniffling, Merlin said, “Anything.”

“Promise me that, regardless of what may transpire at the lake, you will remember what I tell you now.”

Merlin’s eyes fluttered, searching the dragon’s eyes expectantly.

Kilgharrah took another deep whine of a breath. “Arthur’s fate has been sealed, but that does not mean that you have lost.”

“Sealed?” Merlin choked. “No, no. I will find him. He’ll be alright.”

The dragons great head shifted, making Merlin have to adjust to stay standing. His big, gold eyes looked out at the young boy, the wisdom of many years shining through them. “There is nothing you can do that will change what I have seen. I’m afraid it will be a long time before you see your king again, after this day.” He let out another long breath that shook Merlin to his core, then continued, “But take heart. Arthur is the once and future king. He shall, as promised, maintain the peace within Albion, but only when it is absolutely necessary.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin croaked.

“It is a gift to be exempt from the laws of magic, young warlock. You have been pardoned from death and you cannot escape it. However, part of your soul lies within Arthur. Therefore, part of that power is present within him.”

Merlin blinked, trying to take in what he had been told. “Arthur can’t die?”

“I did not say that,” the beast corrected.

“Then what?” Merlin questioned. “Will I save him?”

The dragon mustered what he could of a laugh and appeared to smile. “That does not matter. What _does_ matter is that Arthur will always come back to you, Merlin. You are soul mates in the most literal sense. When you truly need him, he will return to you.”

Merlin’s lip quivered and he struggled to keep his tears from coming. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve before resting his brow against the calloused scales of his mighty friend. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Kilgharrah assured. “It may take time, but you will learn. You have not lost. Peace shall rise with the sun, I promise you. Arthur can escape his destiny no more than you can. And his destiny is to withhold peace. He will do that, for as long as he is needed.”

Merlin nodded, eyes shining as he finally said, “I promise, then. I will not forget this. And I shall not let myself forget you.”

The great thing hummed and his eyes slowly slipped closed. A feeble rhythm of breath echoed through the woods as it slowly faded. It rang in Merlin’s ears until, at long last, it was no more.

“Kilgharrah?” Merlin whispered, leaning into him gently. But there was no response. The dragon was gone.

Merlin began to breathe a bit quicker as he realized what a great loss was before him. A being of such beautiful magic left the world and he could feel it physically. It wasn’t until after a few moments until reality sank in.

He needed to find Arthur.

Merlin sprang into the woods, clumsily weaving through the trees, calling out for his king as he followed the pull of his soul inside of him. “Arthur! Arthur!” He burst through the tree line and, finally, he spotted him, a mess of mail and armor lain out in the grass before him. However, on the other side of the clearing, he saw Morgana.

“Stay away from him,” Merlin growled, voice low and demanding.

Morgana looked up at him with wide eyes, deviously playing at a false innocence. “Oh,” she cooed, “you found him. Isn’t it just a relief that he’s alright?” Her words were kind but her voice was cruel and it churned Merlin’s stomach to hear it.

“Don’t touch him,” he warned again as she loomed closer.

“As if you could stop me,” Morgana countered.

“You don’t think I could?” Merlin replied, cocking his brow and looking upon the witch with cautious scrutiny. “You know who I am. It’d be foolish to stand against me and you know it.”

Morgana let out a laugh. “You may be the man of legend but, if anyone, I could match your power.”

“I really doubt that,” Merlin said, slowly closing the distance between Arthur and him, eager to be closer than Morgana.

“You died, Emrys. I know that,” she sneered. “But the breath in your lungs now does not frighten me. You may come back to life, but you _can_ be killed and you _can_ feel pain. Arthur is at my disposal and you are nothing but a measly foot soldier.”

Arthur groaned then, slowly blinking his eyes open and rejoining the world. He spotted Merlin with blank, tired eyes. Then, he saw Morgana and kept his eyes on her.

She smiled down at him. “It’s a pity you weren’t separated by the fall as I had planned. I would have loved to watch either of you in such a pain as the girl described to me. I suppose I’ll have to make do with killing you now.”

“No!” Merlin roared sharply, suddenly between Arthur and Morgana’s outstretched hand. He looked down at her, jaw clenched and eyes dark.

The witch looked curiously up at him, wild hair flowing down her back. “You’re a coward, Emrys, or else you would have revealed yourself to me long ago.” Her voice was bitter sweet but there was a hidden anger that Merlin could sense. He knew exactly what she was thinking.

He averted his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“What?” Morgana spat, leaning in closer to him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, looking back to her. “I tried to help you. I sent you to the Druids. But Gaius . . . and the dragon . . . There was nothing I could do! This is my own fault, what you’ve become, and I wish _so much_ that there was some way to find you in there. But I can’t! You’re gone . . .”

Morgana glared murderously back at him. “Do not act like I am a different person! You left me in the dark and that is why I became this way! I am not possessed or enchanted! I am—“

“Corrupted,” Merlin finished. “You’ve twisted and changed until you were a whole other person entirely. And . . . I know that I could have stopped this . . . And I _tried,_ Morgana. But there is nothing to be done for you now.”

Merlin slowly lifted his hand but Morgana snatched his wrist the moment she saw it. A terrible cry leapt from her mouth as her eyes flamed and sent Merlin flying to the side.

The warlock was quickly back on his feet. He started forwards, marching towards Morgana with determined vigor. His venomous gaze never left her as he approached, voice rumbling with the power in the words that he spoke. _“Gecneówian! Handgang úre rice æt mec! Wendan sylfum! Underhnígan!”_

As he spelled, Morgana’s eyes grew wide and frightful. She screamed in denial as she was forced onto her knees and her body moved against her will. Breath coming in terrified gasps, she looked up at the man standing before her, his eyes glowing gold.

“No!” Morgana shrieked. “You think you’ve won, but you cannot kill me!” She spoke with certainty but Merlin could hear the fear beneath her tone. “I am a high priestess! No weapon or spell can challenge my existence! None!”

Merlin’s lip curled but his eyes remained sad. “You say these things with such pride, Morgana. But what you don’t know is that I’ve defeated a high priestess before.” He looked down at the blade he now brandished and ran his palm along the flat of it. He sniffed and said, “There’s one difference between our magic. You, like any other sorcerer, sap power from the land around you, borrowing from the earth. You _use_ magic. But me, I _am_ magic. Like the dragons. Like the unicorns. My power comes from inside of myself. It can never die, never run dry, which is why not even this blade can kill me.” He paused and looked longingly at the sharp edge before him, wishing that his words were false, dreaming of one day using it to join his family in the next world once they had all gone. “But you, you’re so small Morgana . . . and I truly am sorry.”

With that, he thrust his rapier, stolen from Mordred’s hand, into Morgana’s stomach, plunging down, through her and into the earth. A startled gasp escaped her lips and she looked upon Merlin with round, green eyes and he watched with great remorse as the light and color left them.

Merlin let go of the hilt and Morgana was left kneeling, propped up grotesquely by the sword, her back arched and arms dangling at her sides. Head cocked slightly upward, her eyes looked unseeing at the dark sky above.

“Arthur!” Merlin whispered in urgency as he ran back to his king. Arthur was still lying in the snow but his gaze was on Merlin, eyes bright with gratitude.

Merlin knelt down beside him and felt his pulse. His skin was cold but he could feel the faint beat of his heart. There was still time.

He began fussing with Arthur’s figure, trying and failing to put his weight on top of him so that he could be carried.

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed. He looked up at his friend from where he limply sat in his lap. Merlin looked down at him with sad eyes, pleading eyes that wanted no goodbyes. “You killed Morgana.”

The murderer took a sharp intake of breath before nodding. “I had to. I . . .”

Arthur’s raised his hand from his thigh, a miniscule movement but noticed nonetheless, ceasing Merlin’s speech. The king gave a few small nods as he tried to find his words then said, “You’ve brought peace.” He smiled a warm, content grin. “Peace at last.”

Merlin’s lashes fluttered as he met Arthur’s eyes. After what he had said to Morgana, he couldn’t help but notice how small Arthur was as well. Compared to his great power, Arthur was naught but a measly mortal. Once, Merlin had thought, _what is a servant to his king?_ But now, as he felt magic run through his veins and the fading breath of his dearest friend, he wondered, _what is a king to a god?_ Nothing. He quickly rid his mind of these thoughts however. Power was not what made a man. Arthur was kind and just and would be the figurehead of peace for years to come. His actions and his beliefs made him who he was and, in Merlin’s eyes, he was so much bigger than he could imagine. Arthur consumed his entire life. He lived and died for Arthur, time and time again. He was all that he could see.

“Let’s go,” Merlin muttered as he heaved Arthur on top of him. He dragged the invalid king to the shores of the lake and summoned a boat. Arthur watched as it floated to land unaided before he was loaded inside.

Arthur relished in the beauty of the icy waters around him and the sound of it sloshing up against the sides of the boat, sounding a steady rhythm of low knocks that sounded breathtakingly peaceful. He gazed up at the structure on the isle as it grew closer, a single tower leaning over him in a way that made it feel as though it was worthy of passing judgment upon him.

All at once, the boat slid into shallow waters and Merlin hopped out before pulling it to shore. Arthur’s heart fell at the sound of his friend’s frantic struggles and eagerness to save him. A pit in the center of his stomach told him that his efforts were in vain and he longed to cease Merlin’s struggles and tell him all that he needed to know.

Merlin hefted Arthur out of the boat and onto the frosty grass of the isle, hooking his gangly limbs under his arms and dragging him across the field towards the tower. But Arthur could feel himself slipping away, as if he was being hallowed out. Every part of him was retreated inside and absorbing itself into his soul so that he might take it with him into the next world. And, as the tower grew closer, it appeared taller. He looked up at it from beneath its shadow, seeing nothing but its condemning silhouette against the grey sky of morning.  

He gazed into it, as if it were a dark abyss, consumed by shadows, and it passed judgment on him. However, it was not a condescending feeling that it gave him. No, the only emotion that radiated from the enormous appraiser was a prideful pity and he knew that whatever unwavering magic this place held was not going to save him.

And Merlin knew as well. He could sense the same things that Arthur could a thousand times over and, when the king looked up at his tear stricken face, he wanted nothing more than for it all to end.  

“Merlin,” he sighed. He spoke in a quiet voice, all strength nearly gone from him. “Merlin, stop.”

But the boy did nothing but wildly shake his head as he lugged Arthur’s dead weight through the frost.

“Merlin, _please,”_ he whispered, and his savior looked devastatingly down at him.

“No, I have to save you,” Merlin muttered, even as he let himself go slack under Arthur’s weight.

“You can’t, Merlin,” Arthur tried, resting a feeble hand on the warlock’s arm in protest. “It’s too late. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t leave me,” Merlin cried softly into his ear as he finally fell to the ground, still holding Arthur close as if he could physically keep him there with him.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Arthur said again, turning his head to look at him the best he could.

“No. No,” Merlin mumbled, still edging towards the tower in one last futile attempt to save him. “Stop talking. You’re going to be alright. I’m going to . . .” His voice trailed off into something unintelligible as sobs broke his speech. He held Arthur tightly, willing him to stay but being able to do nothing to ensure it.

“It’s alright Merlin,” Arthur assured, lying to the last person he would ever want to. “I want you to promise me something.”

Merlin looked up and into Arthur’s eyes. Another promise.

“Whatever happens,” Arthur croaked, losing the power to speak, “I want you to keep company, Merlin. I need you to be with people, tell them who you are so that you don’t forget. I want you to keep a hold on yourself. Never lose who you are. Never lose this.” He patted Merlin’s arm affectionately. “Please, Merlin. Do this for me. The world can’t bear to lose you.”

 Merlin curled in on himself as he pulled out from beneath Arthur and knelt by his side. “No,” he said, barely audible. “I need you here, Arthur. I can’t . . . I don’t know how to . . . _please.”_

Arthur shook his head. “I owe you so much, but I can’t give you that, Merlin. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll be alone,” Merlin sobbed, leaning down and facing Arthur. He held his head in his hands and looked into his eyes, willing the life to remain in them.

“No,” Arthur countered. “No, you won’t. You have to promise me that you won’t, Merlin.”

Merlin swallowed through his tears and hesitantly nodded. “I promise.”

Arthur mimicked Merlin and nodded his content, struggling with every breath as he tried to hold onto Merlin’s gaze for as long as possible. “You’ve done so much,” he said to him. “You’ve done more than me, more than any of us.”

Merlin shook his head, denying the credit that he so rightfully deserved.

A huff escaped through Arthur’s breath and it sounded almost like a laugh. “You should be king,” he joked, smiling up at his friend.

The warlock grinned back at him, his eyes shining with tears.

A weak, shaking hand came up and affectionately rested on the back of Merlin’s neck, Arthur’s thumb rubbing his nape. “My friend,” he said, using all his effort to put these final words into his last breath, “thank you.”

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat as the light left Arthur’s eyes and his arm went limp, falling back down to his side. “No,” Merlin whispered bringing Arthur’s head up closer. “No, no, no. You can’t. Arthur, you can’t!”

And for a moment, Arthur listened, as if Merlin held more authority than the laws of life and death. For the shortest second, he saw through those bleak, blue eyes, and he looked upon Merlin one last time before gently closing them, all thoughts swept away with the final beat of his frail heart.

“No! Please, no! Stay with me!” Merlin cried, bringing his forehead to Arthur’s, so close that their noses touched. He climbed over him, still wailing on with numb calls for Arthur’s resurrection, and tried to pull his king towards the tower again, but his legs were shaking and his arms were weak. He collapsed beneath the body of his friend. He continued to bawl and weep as he pushed Arthur off of him once again, scrambling with his hands to grip at his cold flesh. He held tightly to Arthur’s arms and pulled him close, hugging him and pressing his face into his chest as he howled and mourned.

Inside he was crashing. His mind and his soul were falling apart, piece by piece. He could not comprehend what truly was happening. Arthur gave him meaning. Without him, Merlin’s purpose was eliminated, leaving him as nothing but a burden to all. Arthur was the only man who knew him through to the bone and now he was gone.

To lose Arthur, to be stripped of his entire reason for living, was the greatest calamity. Within him, everything was collapsing. He didn’t know what to do. He had no clue what would become of him after this moment, sitting alone on an isle, clinging onto Arthur and willing life to return to his body with no affect. He didn’t want to move on. He couldn’t. He’d never stop. He’d just keep going and going, outliving everyone and Arthur would be lost in the past, only alive within his own mind, to the point where he’d question if he was genuine. His mind raced and rattled inside his head, trying and failing to figure out what he was meant to do now that he had failed in his destiny. But nothing came. More and more dead ends plagued him. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing for him to do. So his mind just stopped. He stopped. He just stopped.

 And, as his body crumpled beside his king’s, the sun broke through the horizon and lit up the world.


	14. Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath is painful.

It was Percival who found them. They were both lying motionless at the base of the tower, pale and broken. Leon and Gwaine were close behind, and their hearts weighed heavier than the whole of the world when they realized what fate had befallen their king.

The citizens of Camelot wept for Arthur. They all knew of the great sacrifice he had made in order to save the realm from Morgana’s rage. Memorials took place all about the five kingdoms. Children and wise mean wept. Families and hermits wept. Sorcerers and mortals wept. All for Arthur. But no one seemed to weep for Merlin.

He wouldn’t wake. He wouldn’t move. He wouldn’t even so much as stir. Gaius had to massage potions and pastes down his throat to keep him alive and it did nothing. Only Gwen and the knights wept for Merlin. The people didn’t care. Hell, the people didn’t even know. When news of the king’s death is revolving around tongues and ears, no one pays any mind to the servant who lost everything.

People would come and talk to him. Gwen would visit, when she could, plead for his return, unaware as to whether or not her requests could be heard. Gwaine came. He brought ale. Often Gaius would have to treat the poor man for nearly causing his own death, he got so drunk. Leon would say things to him, small things. He often informed him on matters of state, encouraging him to wake up so that he could see for himself how many sorcerers had settled in Camelot. Percival spoke little, merely keeping him company, sometimes commenting on how thin he was or saying something offhandedly about Arthur.

 

 

When Merlin finally did wake, it was not to Gaius’s chambers or the field where he last laid. No, he was in Arthur’s chambers, propped up in a chair by the window. He was vaguely aware of the things that were said to him whilst he was unresponsive. He couldn’t quite recall the words but he knew their meaning.

Gwen walked in on him, staring at nothing. She gasped and hurried over to him, placing her hands on his cheeks and gazing into him with fretful brown eyes.

It took a moment, but Merlin’s eyes eventually focused in on hers and he saw her, truly, rightfully saw her.

“Oh, Merlin,” she cried, pulling him into a hug.

He would have returned it, except he didn’t know how. He felt numb.

Gwen pulled back and he blinked at her. His mind didn’t know what to do. He was still stalled. He hadn’t moved on. His mind couldn’t move forwards because a life for him without a king to protect was unfathomable.

“Do you know how long it’s been?” Gwen questioned, still searching Merlin’s eyes for some sort of response or recognition.

Merlin only looked at her.

“It’s been three weeks, Merlin,” she sighed, pulling up a chair so that she could sit beside her friend.

Merlin looked away from her, staring blankly down at the floor.

“It’s raining,” Gwen commented, still eyeing the warlock with concern and a distant hope.

Merlin looked up at her for a moment, still expressionless, then turned to gaze out the window. It was indeed raining, drops of water tapping against the window. The streets glistened with a sheet of rain water, running down the cobblestones and in between the cracks like veiny rivers.

“Gaius says it’s you,” Gwen said, placing her hand on Merlin’s knee.

He didn’t look away from the window.

“That you’re causing the rain,” she continued.

Merlin didn’t understand why it mattered.

“Merlin,” she sighed, tilting her head to get a better look at him. “The fields are flooding. People are falling ill. The weather is far too brittle for such a downpour.”

The warlock did not reply, did not move. His breath didn’t even so much as hitch. He remained silent, seeming as though his mind was elsewhere.

But, the next morning, the city dawned a clear sky.

 

 

Now that Gwen was sure Merlin was listening, she invited his friends to visit him, if only in small numbers. He had grown irritated in days past, mumbling incoherent things when the room was too crowded in Gaius’s small chambers. He’d been delusional during his first few days of waking. She doubted Merlin remembered any of it. Slowly he grew quieter and seemed to block out the outside world. That’s when the queen had moved him back into Arthur’s rooms, though she supposed they might as well be Merlin’s now.

Regardless of whether or not Merlin could hear them, he still offered no reaction to anything. Yes, he would look if someone pointed or meet the eyes of a worried friend, but he never spoke, never showed emotion. It were as if he were drained, sucked dry of all things that made him who he was.

Gwen refused to believe that though. In her mind, Merlin was merely hiding, somewhere inside the vacant body before her, and she vowed to draw him out.

But, in the end, it wasn’t her who brought their joyous Merlin back. It was Arthur. It was always Arthur.

 

 

On one of Merlin’s rather good days when he had lots of visitors and looked at things more often than he often did, Gwen sat beside him and let out a weary sigh.

It was difficult seeing such a kind soul as Merlin being reduced to something so withdrawn and broken. He still needed to be spoon fed, always broth or paste, nothing solid, and anything that required movement had to be done with aid. He’d lost the will to move, to think, to feel.

The queen had been putting off this day for a while now but it had to be done. She leaned forwards in her seat until Merlin’s eyes drifted towards her, his head bowed to his chest as it often was.

“Merlin,” she hesitated, not knowing what reaction to expect, if any, “a funeral will be held for Arthur at dawn tomorrow.”

Merlin turned his head slightly, his mind working harder than it had in a long time.

_Arthur’s body was still preserved. He had not been put to rest yet. He had not been buried. He had not been burned. Why?_

“I wanted to know if you would like to attend,” Gwen said finally, looking at Merlin with an anxious gleam, hoping with all her might that he would give some sort of answer.

To her surprise, Merlin’s brow furrowed, the only expression he’d made since he’d drifted off into his own head, and his eyes went vacant as he thought about Arthur’s body. He thought about what happens after death. He thought about him being trapped inside his own flesh like a prison, not being able to move on, just as Merlin couldn’t.

“Merlin?” Gwen questioned again, her friend’s odd face making her fret.

Numbly, Merlin nodded.

 

 

Gwen helped him dress in the morning, stripping him of his night clothes and fitting him with something more suitable, all whilst he stayed in his little chair by the window.

However, when she draped his Pendragon crested cloak over his shoulders, he turned his head and looked down at the golden dragon imbedded on his shoulder.

Gwen bit her lip, praying that the action had not triggered Merlin in anyway, but the boy just remained that way, looking down at the emblem oddly. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned as she lifted him out of his chair and aided him out the door.

She was honestly surprised at how well Merlin could walk. His legs shook and his breathing was off, but, with a hand to steady him, he could manage.

His body was brought back out to the lake of Avalon, where it all happened. It was cruel irony that it happened to be the lake closest to Camelot, large enough for a king’s funeral. Again, Merlin wondered why they hadn’t let his king rest as soon as possible. However, it became clear to him, as he was led to a chair by the edge of the lake where his friends all met him with sad smiles, that it was because of him. He cursed himself for acting like a hermit, shutting himself inside his own mind, for it made his friend’s passing prolonged.

Arthur’s body was brought out in fine chainmail and his vibrant red cloak. Merlin twisted his neck to look at him as Gwen spoke, noting that he was not the same armor he had died in. Gwaine and Percival tried to distract him, whispering into his ear that everything was alright or commenting on how nice the assembly was. But he ignored them. He had only eyes for Arthur. All other noises were drowned out as he was pushed into the lake and it worried his friends, what with how he stared out after his friend, looking lost and empty.

He gazed out at the lake, watching as Arthur drifted away, becoming so small as he once again floated towards the tower on the isle.

The fire reflected brightly in his eyes as he watched the arrow fall, landing softly down on the boat, catching the kindling and straw.

Merlin swallowed as he watched the flames eat Arthur up, growing larger and brighter until none of his king could be seen but the fragments of red cape that fluttered into the air in charred banners.

Suddenly, the fire flared as it caught on something, and Merlin felt something jolt inside of him. He sat up straight and his eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched darkness close in on him, shadows devouring all that could be seen until all he saw was that fire.

And then that too disappeared and he went limp, sliding off his chair and onto the wet ground beneath him.

 

 

Merlin’s collapse started a panic to say the least. It was far too well known that he was a sorcerer and, those who still feared magic nearly jumped forwards to slay him when he passed out at the funeral. The kingdom was in a strange state of shock. The people knew that the court magician had fallen ill after his king’s death, but none knew the extent of it until that day.

He seemed so frail to them. His collapse, to some, was seen as an omen of worse things to come. To others, it was magic taking its toll, corrupting him as it was meant to. Gwen shut them all out of course, caring for her friend the best she could, but Merlin had sunk even deeper inside himself. He could not support his own weight and his eyes were dark and vacant, like he was looking at nothing. He was limp, nothing but a doll with a heartbeat.

 

 

Merlin didn’t understand what was happening to him. It was like he was trapped, as if whatever broke inside him on that day had been holding him up at the surface and he plummeting down uncontrollably into the never ending depths of his mind when it was taken away.

He would sometimes catch glimpses of the outside world, a face or the wall, sometimes the window, but it would always fade away. It was like he always conscious but not awake. He could see and hear things on occasions but they were like mirages and echoes before him.

He felt something else too. Whatever Arthur’s passing had destroyed had also released something, something that was surrounding him inside, wrapping hot fingers around his heart and digging into his brain. He fought it, and, when he fought it, the world was black. Only when he gave in did he see Gwen’s face. Each time he saw her, she looked worse, worry lines painted on her face. She was truly broken for him. It was like the thing he was fighting against was teasing him, giving him the smallest taste of the outside world whenever he gave way, making him believe that letting it win would grant him freedom. But he kept pushing against it, scratching at his heart and hitting his head until the burning hands receded. But then he would be left in the dark and he would long to see Gwen’s face again, to be sure that she was alright, and he would let them back in.

One day the force inside him let his glimpse again, and he could hear a far off voice, pleading sadly as it sobbed. It was Gwen, and the woe in her broke Merlin’s heart all over again. So he stopped. He let go and hot fingers prodded every inch of him, burning him on the inside until all he knew was that painful, undying heat and a bright, blinding, impossible light.

And then everything was warm.

_“Merlin.”_

 

 

With a small, sharp intake of breath, Merlin opened his eyes. He saw the window and, in it, he could see the reflection of Gwen looking up from where she way lying food out on the table. He stared at her, wondering why he was let back into the world, pondering what the presence inside of him was. And it was still there and he felt so warm. He felt so safe.

_“Merlin.”_

He gasped again, small and barely audible, but Gwen heard it. She raced to his side, placing her hand on his shoulder. Merlin looked at her, eyes glistening with tears he didn’t know he had. Why was he crying?

_“Merlin.”_

He sat up straight and Gwen cried out.

_“Merlin.”_

She left him, only for the briefest moment, and then was back by his side, holding his shoulders in her hands, shaking him gently, reassuringly. “It’s alright, Merlin.”

_“Merlin.”_

He knew that voice but it had been such a long time since he had last heard it, the darkness making time stretch out, unmeasurable. He couldn’t place it. His mind was spinning.

_“Merlin.”_

Gaius came bustling in. Speed he’d never seen before in the old man brought him quickly to his side. He sat beside Guinevere, rummaging through his medicine bag, telling Gwen that he needed space to work. She sat back, hand on her mouth and brow brought together in worry.

_“Merlin.”_

He tried so hard but he couldn’t recognize the voice. He knew who it was, he was sure of it, but something in his mind refused to let him have the information he craved.

_“Merlin.”_

His heart was pounding. He could feel it hammering on inside him. Gaius announced it so and continued to dig into his supplies, pulling out a pestle and mortar and grinding up herbs.

_“Merlin.”_

Suddenly he was aware that he was shaking, jittering, eyes fluttering wildly from face to face and back towards the window he’d stared out for so long. His hands trembled and his feet ticked against the floor. His movement was unrelenting and he was too weak and too confused to stop them.

_“Merlin.”_

“Arthur,” Merlin said, the first words he’d spoken since his death. His voice was hoarse and barely heard. But Gaius and Gwen heard it and the old man froze, a potion pressed to Merlin’s lips. He drew it back and looked at his surrogate son with wide eyes.

Merlin looked up at him, gaining some control of himself, and blinked, not entirely believing his own words.

_“Be calm, Merlin.”_

Merlin gasped, swallowing a deep gulp of air that soothed his twitches. He slumped forwards and Gwen held him.

_“It’s alright.”_

Slowly, Merlin sat back up, a cautious hand on his shoulder. He took a few more deep breaths and looked past his friends to the window. In the reflection he saw Gwaine, Leon, and Percival, standing by the door, looking on with long faces.

_“I’m sorry it took so long. I tried to tell you.”_

“What?” Merlin whispered to himself, to the voice inside his head.

His friends all looked concerned and he couldn’t fathom it. Joy sprung up inside of him and he couldn’t contain it.

_“They think you’re ill, Merlin. You’ve scared them half to death. Give it time.”_

But Merlin didn’t give it time, he couldn’t. He leapt onto his feet and Gwen screamed for his safety. “Arthur!” he cried out, a smile bright on his face. His knees wobbled and knocked together but he pushed himself onto the wall where he could steady himself. He turned around, facing his friend with a renewed gleam in his eyes.

_“Merlin, stop.”_

His breath came quickly and _oh_ he was so tired. But his heart was beating fit to fly out of his chest. Gwaine and Leon raced forwards, each taking an arm to support his weight. Merlin sunk between them but kept on smiling through his panting breaths as the people around him shouted warnings to one another.

_“Merlin, they can’t hear me. You need to stop.”_

Merlin listened and allowed himself to be taken to his chair, where they lowered him gently down. Gaius brought the potion back up again and he sipped it down. Soon he was drifting away, falling from the real world and into sleep.

Just before he slipped away, he heard Gwen crying.

 

 

He woke a day later to the same voice but did not open his eyes. Instead he listened, treasuring its presence.

_“Merlin.”_

_“Arthur.”_

He smiled in his slumber, praising the sisters of fate for making the decision that led him to this moment.

_“How are you here?”_

_“I am not, Merlin.”_

_“Where are you?”_

_“Avalon.”_

_“What is it like?”_

_“It is . . .”_ He paused, and Merlin imagined him looking around. “ _It is peaceful.”_

 _“Are you alone?”_ Merlin asked, hoping with all his might that he is not. He promises himself that, if he was, he would always keep him company, always speak to his king.

 _“No,”_ he answered.

_“Who is with you?”_

There was a silence and Merlin’s chest pumped with the anticipation.

 _“Everyone,”_ Arthur said. There was a smile in his voice.

 _“What do you mean?”_ Merlin asked, a wondrous curiosity in his voice.

 _“All the people I have ever known and more,”_ Arthur replied. _“And they are all perfect.”_

_“What is it like?”_

_“This place,”_ Arthur explained, voice misty and full of heart, _“it only holds what is good. All evil is purged from the soul and they come here, purified. Even Morgana is here, but she is kind, like she once was. My father . . . he is . . . he is just that. He is a father. He is not a king and not a tyrant. His heart is as it was before it was churned by betrayal. And my mother is here. She’s told me so many things.”_

_“Who else do you see?”_

_“Everyone,”_ Arthur said again. _“I have met your Freya as well, though she is not always here. She watches you in the reflections. She says she sees deep within you for she can only see you when you are looking upon yourself. She misses you._

_“Your father is here also. He is proud. Lancelot wishes you luck and thanks you, as do many. Will praises you. Elyan wishes that you look after Guinevere, though I assume you’d do that anyway.”_

_“Actually,”_ Merlin laughed, _“she’s been doing more of the looking after lately.”_

Arthur chuckled. _“Countless people give you thanks and gratitude Merlin. An endless list of names, I could give to you. Some are people we have never even met, people who know you only as Emrys who are relishing in the knowledge that their living families are free.”_

Merlin smiled. _“It is you they should be thanking.”_

 _“Maybe so,”_ Arthur hummed, obviously thinking the credit be due to Merlin. Their modesty rivaled each other as always.

 _“Merlin,”_ Arthur calls after a moment of blissful silence.

_“What is it, Arthur?”_

_“You must wake up,”_ he instructed.

Merlin was hesitant and he could feel it. So, he reassured him.

 _“I will still be here when you wake,”_ he promises. _“You must explain to them what has happened.”_

_“But I do not know what has happened.”_

_“Then you must ask them for help.”_

_“They already thing me mad,”_ Merlin sighed.

_“Then prove them wrong.”_

With that, Arthur pushed Merlin awake and he opened his eyes to Arthur’s will. He was in his bed this time, discovering that both it and Arthur’s mighty mattress had been left in their rooms. He scarcely remembers being in bed the past few months. He thought to himself that he either was too far from consciousness during those times or it was not worth the effort to move him, given he was practically in a constant state of rest anyhow.

 _“Do not think of these things, Merlin,”_ Arthur told him. _“You must find someone.”_

Merlin sat up, eyes round and blinking owlishly.

_“How long has it been?”_

_“A day, I think,”_ Arthur supplied.

The room was empty. Slowly, he got up, knees knocking together and legs quivering. He leaned on the wall, pressing his open palms against the stone. His arms shook and folded under the pressure, so he hugged the wall, putting his torso up against it to keep him steady.

Gradually, he slunk across the wall, feet scraping against the floor as if he’d forgotten how to walk.

Arthur let out a small laugh. _“You have,”_ he jested.

Merlin rolled his eyes and he could sense that Arthur felt it.

 _“Why is it that you can see into my world and hear all of my thoughts,”_ Merlin asked, _“but I can naught but hear your voice?”_

_“I don’t know Merlin.”_

_“How did you figure to talk to me?”_

_“I could feel you,”_ Arthur said _“As you felt me, I felt you. But I recognized you. You did not. I don’t know why and that is why you must find someone.”_

Merlin agreed as he found the lip of the window with his fingers. He pulled himself to it and put a hand on either side. He paused, peering into the glass. He looked at his reflection and smiled.

“Hello, Freya,” he whispered.

He received nothing in return. There was no way for his love to speak to him through the panes, but he felt content, knowing that she was with him.

He heaved a sigh and pushed away from the wall, staggering until he found his chair. He gripped it and held himself to it like a walker. Then, he stretched out his arm, reaching for the table. With a valiant shove, he threw himself onto it, locking shaking arms beneath him as he panted for breath. He looked up, eyes on the door where he would find the guards, and wished so much that he could call to them from there. However, his voice was too small. His throat would not take it. So, he straightened up and bravely let go of his support.

With whatever luck was left to him, he managed half the distance, stumbling and swaying his way forward. But that luck ran out and his feet slipped over themselves until the momentum pushed him farther than his legs could carry him and he sprawled out onto the floor, moaning as the breath was forced from him.

Arthur said something to him then, but he couldn’t hear over the pain ringing in his ears. He couldn’t remember being so weak, so frail. His body twanged with a sore throb that vibrated in his brain. He wanted to call out, find the someone Arthur wanted him to, but his voice could not come.

That didn’t matter though because the guards had heard his flesh slap against the floor and were bursting through the doors of their own accord. They saw Merlin lying there. One left the room whilst the other circled around Merlin, sword drawn, checking for intruders.

_“Get up.”_

“I can’t,” Merlin gasped, more breath than words.

_“You can.”_

Merlin shook his head.

_“I can feel you. You can.”_

Reluctantly, Merlin placed his hands underneath him and levered his torso up off the floor. Gaius, Gwen, and Gwaine rushed in then, all racing towards him.

Gwaine took his arms in his tight grip and hauled him up. Merlin leaned into him, legs positively shivering beneath his body. Gwen turned the chair round and the knight placed him in it, Gaius hobbling forwards with a cup of water.

“Merlin,” the old man said, “what happened, my boy?”

“Gaius,” Merlin wheezed, head pounding against his skull ferociously.

 _“We need his help,”_ Arthur reminded him.

“Gaius, please,” Merlin breathed, clutching a clump of his mentor’s sleeve.

“Tell me, Merlin.”

Merlin suddenly became frustrated and self-conscious, the guards and the knight and the queen all scuffling about the room, making noise. His senses splayed out unwillingly. He heard all of it; their anxious breaths, their beating hearts. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to be alone again. His eyes pinched up in pain and he held tighter to Gaius’s sleeve.

The physician’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening. He turned to Gwen, still knelt beside Merlin so that he could hold onto him. “I need to clear the room,” he said.

Merlin winced, Gaius’s voice grinding against his ears. He could hear the clack of his teeth and the click of his lips, the gurgle of saliva slithering down his throat as he swallowed.

“What’s happening, Gaius?” Gwen questioned, putting a hand on his shoulder.

The queen’s high voice rattled within his head, causing him to tense even further, doubling up in his chair.

“His magic is unstable, Guinevere,” Gaius explained urgently. “His own senses are too much for him—I need everybody out _now.”_

Gwen nodded and they all reluctantly scurried out of the room, throwing last second worried glances Merlin’s way before closing the door.

Merlin threw his head back and let out a small cry as the bang reverberated through his ears. His breath came quickly and with difficulty as Gaius shushed him, rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder.

With time, Merlin calmed and the room around him was not so overwhelming. He let loose Gaius’s robes and took slow breaths.

_“I’m sorry, Merlin.”_

“What?” Merlin said, not realizing he was talking aloud.

Gaius looked at him questioningly.

_“I shouldn’t have pushed you.”_

“Merlin,” Gaius whispered, “what happened?”

Merlin looked up at Gaius with wide, blue eyes that held far more hope than the old man had seen in the past few months. “Arthur,” was all he managed.

Gaius closed his eyes and sadly shook his head. “Merlin . . . Arthur, he’s . . .”

“Dead,” Merlin finished, but the gleam did not falter. “But Gaius, I—“

“Merlin, he’s gone.”

“I can hear him.”

The physician sighed and sat back in his chair. “Alright, my boy,” he said quietly, sounding defeated and remorseful. “Tell me what you hear.”

“Gaius, he’s speaking to me from Avalon. He’s there but he can speak to me. He’s been here in my head. I don’t understand it, Gaius. I need to know why this is happening.”

“Merlin, you’ve been ill for months now,” was all the man could say.

Merlin looked at him disbelievingly. “I’m not mad,” he protested. “I can hear him. He’s real, Gaius. I know for certain that it is him. I can _feel_ him.”

But all his mentor did was give him a woeful look and say, “I don’t know how to help you, my boy.”

Tears sprung to Merlin’s eyes. He finally has the will to live again and his father figure thinks him the fool he always feigned to be.

“I’m telling the truth Gaius,” he pleaded. “Please. I need your help.”

The old man closed his eyes and took a few breaths before looking back at Merlin. “Fine,” he agreed in a soft voice, as if he were talking to an ailing man who’s mind was ebbing away. “Tell me what you see in Avalon.”

The boy looked at Gaius with sorrow scratching at his heart. Then, he bowed his head, looking away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Merlin,” Gaius murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. The warlock shied away, shrugging him off. The physician recoiled. “I’m sorry. His lost took its toll on us all.”

“He’s not gone from me,” Merlin uttered, barely able to hear.

“He is.”

“Get out.”

Gaius’s eyebrow rose and he stiffened.

“Get out,” Merlin repeated softly, throat thick with restricted tears.

“Merlin . . .”

“Get out,” he finally sobbed, shoulders heaving with hitched breaths.

The old man left, leaving Merlin to grieve a man he believed to still be living inside of him.

 

 

Merlin tried talking to Gaius several times, but the man always treated him as a patient with a worsening mental ailment rather than the boy who had finally recovered from one. It always ended badly, with Merlin feeling abandoned. Gaius either tried to reason with him or would play along as one would with a child, pretending to be interested and believing in some fantasy world.

_“We will try again.”_

Merlin shook his head.

 _“He’s let you out of the room,”_ Arthur reasoned. _“He must think you’re getting better.”_

_“No. That’s him giving up. He thinks I will remain like this forever. And he is right. But he does not see that it is health before him and not a horrid trauma.”_

_“Perhaps we should try—“_

_“No.”_

_“Merlin . . .”_

_“Percival did not listen. Leon pities me. Gwaine laughed and drunk himself giddy. What makes you think that she could be any different?”_

_“You must try.”_

_“Gaius has spoken to her about it. I know he has. She thinks that I am mad as well.”_

_“But you cannot retreat to me like this, Merlin.”_

_“And why not?”_ Merlin had abandoned his senses and hidden inside his mind. Whenever he woke from these retreats it was to stricken friends and a weary physician. _“The whole world thinks me insane. Why face them? I don’t want to hurt Gwen.”_

_“You won’t”_

_“I hurt the others.”_

_“They don’t understand.”_

_“And you think she will?”_

_“She is different.”_

_“How?”_

_“Gwen is good as seeing people as they are. You know this. She sensed Morgana’s treachery shortly after you did. If it were not for her uncertainty, she would have conspired alongside you.”_

_“She has uncertainty now, Arthur. Already she thinks I have been lost. Seeing me in a fit of delusions will only worsen her grief.”_

_“You must give her a chance.”_

_“I cannot survive another heart broken, Arthur. It’s tearing me apart.”_

_“We need someone to help us figure out why this is happening, someone on your side. The people here refuse to intervene. They claim that it is not their place to say for they too are part of your mind to those in your world. If we received an explanation from them, no one would believe—“_

_“I know, you have told me this,”_ Merlin growled.

_“Just try, Merlin. One last time.”_

Merlin sighed and thought with dread about the conversation to come. _“One last time,”_ he agreed. He opened his eyes.

 

 

Gwen was bringing him his breakfast, despite him asking her not to, claiming that he could do it on his own. She was the queen and he thought she deserved to be waited on and cared for, not be the one struggling to keep others happy. He didn’t complain this time, however. He had been, after all, unresponsive for days and it wasn’t the first time he had become mentally secluded as he was.

“Gwen,” Merlin croaked, looking at her with sad, blue eyes.

She turned to him, adjusting the last bits of his platter, and her brow furrowed. She was never happy when he woke anymore. She was always just concerned. Whatever Merlin did made her worry. Even when he managed to laugh there would be an underlying sorrow behind her joy.

And he was about to worry her again, and he hated it.

“What is it, Merlin?” she asked, coming to sit beside him.

“I want to tell you something,” Merlin said, straightening his back.

“Anything,” Gwen granted.

“It’s . . .” Merlin hesitated, not wanting to be put down in his beliefs again. “It’s Arthur . . . I wanted to . . .” He trailed off, seeing the woe and disappointment in her soft features. He froze, eyes wide with regret and fear.

“Merlin,” Gwen sighed, placing a gentle hand on his knee. “Arthur’s gone.”

“I know that, Gwen, but he’s—“

“He’s dead, Merlin.”

“You don’t think I _know_ that!” Merlin spat, eyes flaring.

Gwen sat back, startled.

“I had to sit there and watch as his breath left his body, Gwen!” Merlin cried, shaking in his seat. “I was so close and yet I could do nothing as his heart stopped right before me! You lost a husband and a king, but I lost so much more, Gwen! I lost everything!” His words came in through choking sobs that he futilely tried to suppress. “You didn’t see what he saw! You have no idea what a hell my life has been! Arthur was the only thing that kept me here! Without him, I would have been as I was those first few weeks! I wanted to die, Gwen! Do you know what that’s like? To be something so hated that your own mind is led to believing you’re a monster! To be told by everyone that it is your fault even though you had no choice in it! Protecting Arthur was my only purpose and I have _failed_ in my destiny! You have no idea what it is like to lose who you are!” He was left ogling at her, breath hitched and struggling to breathe.

Gwen’s cheeks were stained with tears as she put her head in her hands and tried to muffle her own sobs. Her shoulders shook with it and Merlin leaned forwards to speak in a whisper.

“I’m sorry, Gwen,” Merlin muttered. “But I need to know that I’m not mad. I need someone to _listen to me_ so that I can try and figure this out. Please, Gwen. I don’t want to be alone in this.”

Merlin felt something then, like Arthur had tensed inside of him, like he realized the true extent of Merlin’s struggles.

Gwen shook her head before slowly looking up at Merlin, eyes bright and red. “Gaius says you’re still ill. He says it’s trauma. He says you’ve constructed your own fantasy to forget what has happened. He says he’s seen it before,” she hiccupped.

“But don’t you see?” Merlin pleaded. “It’s not a fantasy. I haven’t forgotten. I know what’s happened and I’m not trying to fix things. I’m not trying to hurt you, Gwen. I’m hearing him speak to me but he is not inside my head. He’s elsewhere. He’s in Avalon.”

The queen let out another small sob and covered her mouth with her hand before swiping the tear tracks from her cheeks.

“Don’t you want to believe that it is Arthur?” Merlin questioned, trying different tactics. “Don’t you want to talk to him again?”

“Of course I do!” Gwen whimpered, throwing her hands onto her lap. “But he’s dead, Merlin. I’ve moved on. I’ve mourned. He’s gone. If I believed you now, it would only hurt because I can’t know if he’s real or not. I can’t handle that.”

Merlin quivered, and expression of woe and defeat consuming his features. “He is here, Gwen,” he rasped, barely even he could hear himself speak. He sounded doubtful and broken. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Gwen murmured, standing slowly before hurrying from the room.

Merlin sat there, staring as where she had sat, looking at the empty seat with dread. His heart crumpled and his soul throbbed inside of him. He could feel the hot fingers of Arthur’s presence wrapping around him again, trying to hold him up, keep him safe. But he did not feel safe. He felt alone. Gwen was his last hope in finding sanity, proving to himself that Arthur truly was speaking to him.

He began to think that Gaius was right. He hated the hollow feeling inside of him as he gave into the idea that he was, in truth, mad. Arthur fretted within him, making him warm, making him hot, desperately trying to prove that he was real by Making Merlin feel things that should be impossible.

 Merlin pondered these feelings, thinking he could be sporting a fever, thinking a wave a heat might have passed through the door Gwen left hanging ajar. As these feelings twisted inside of him, he stood, wondering vaguely where the heat might be coming from.

Weighed back by the drag of his own mind as he again collapsed inside, he gradually walked to the door and stepped out into the hall, led astray by his own madness. He reasoned to himself that, even if Arthur truly was speaking to him, he was indeed mad, driven so by loss and the painful, pitying scrutiny of his friends. He wondered away from his room, finding the brisk air of morning and the heat of the sun against his skin that he reckoned might have found his way to his little chair moments before.

Merlin would not be seen for a very long time.


	15. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something brings Merlin back to Camelot.

_“Oh, Merlin.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“Merlin, I am sorry.”_

_“Arthur?”_

_“I am so sorry.”_

_“What? What is it?”_

_“He’s coming.”_

_“Who?”_

_“Merlin, there is not much time.”_

_“Tell me who it is!”_

_“He is dying.”_

_“Who is dying?”_

_“Gaius.”_

Camelot flourished as the most powerful kingdom in all of Britain. It was a peaceful place, protected by every subject of defense; loyal soldiers, trusted sorcerers, faithful wise men, helpful seers. But the peace was disrupted, a shadow of a man appearing at the gates and passing through without need of permission. He was invulnerable and undeniable as he breached the border. No one knew of his intentions and yet he was allowed passage without a second thought.

As much as he was welcomed, no one escorted him to meet with the queen. He knew his way and they stayed out of it, none knowing what to expect from the long lost treasure of their mighty kingdom.

With swift strides he roamed the corridors, marching forwards with purposeful steps. He met no one’s eye, afraid of what he might see within.

He didn’t want to be thought as mad again.

Before he knew what was happening, he was through the door.

Gwen spun around and her eyes were round as saucers, dark irises animating her shock against blood shot whites. “Merlin,” she gasped, barely moving her lips, lost in surprise as she was.

The man only nodded, looking away from her as he closed the distance between himself and the father of a man before him. He ignored the press of the queen’s gaze as he hovered over the court physician who lay slumbering on the bed.

“What’s happened to him?” he asked. His voice was lower than she’d remembered and course like his chin.

The queen gawked at him, staring at how he had changed. His hair was in disarray, long and dancing about his brow, a visor to his eyes. His lips and jaw were specked by a tattered, unkempt beard, as though it were cut with a dull blade, leaving behind and uneven pattern of bristles. His clothes were disheveled. A blue tunic poked out from beneath cloaks that shrouded him. One was dark and kept him ominous, appearing as someone that no person would pay any mind to. The other was red and concealed under covers.

“Nothing’s happened,” she finally answered, becoming aware of the ever stretching silence between them, all the while never being able to catch his eye.

“What do you mean, _nothing happened?”_ he questioned, tilting his head slightly towards her but keeping his eyes on the ailing man.

“He’s just dying, Merlin,” she explained.

“Of what?” he rumbled, leaning further over him still.

“Old age.”

The man stopped. “No.”

“Yes, Merlin,” she insisted.

“No,” he repeated, a hint of emotion escaping through his hard words at last. “Not after so long. No. I should have been with him.”

The queen started and looked pointedly at Merlin. “Well you have only yourself to blame for that,” she said.

“What?” Merlin asked, finally turning to her but keeping his eyes strung away.

“You left,” she pointed out, nodding to him. “You did this to him, to all of us.”

His brow furrowed, barely noticeable beneath the curtain of hair, but it could be read by the creases about his eyes. “I didn’t . . .”

“You did,” Gwen corrected, effectively stifling back her tears in favor of authority. “You left and I’d bet you don’t even know how long it’s been.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I will say whatever I please,” Gwen countered, sounding regal as she was. “Tell me how long it’s been.”

“A . . . a few years.”

“How many?”

He swallowed. “Three.”

“And do you have any idea what that did to us?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Merlin insisted, turning his side to her. “We need to . . . we need to tend to Gaius.”

“He has been tended to,” Gwen continued strongly. “All that must be done has been done.”

“No, we need to save him,” Merlin said, voice thick and restrained.

“You can’t,” Gwen stated, looking down her nose at him, her chin in the air.

 It was then she became aware of how he moved, how he twitched and slid. His feet rubbing against the ground as he turned back to his mentor, jittering forwards slightly after each step. His fingers trembling as he put a rigid yet gentle hand on the elder’s arm. He blinked hard and then fluttered his eyes and he seemed to do this without thought. His eyes no longer glided across the world with marvel. Instead they flickered about, eyeing everything warily.

“He’s dying,” he whispered softly in a wavering voice. Then, he knelt at the bedside and put his face close to Gaius’s, watching his breath come and go in an agonizingly slow rhythm.

Gwen suddenly pitied him, remembering what state he had been in the last time they had seen each other. She stepped forwards, placing a soothing hand on the warlocks shoulder. He watched his thumb rub the old man’s wrist, holding onto the heartbeat that would soon fade.

“It’s not your fault,” Gwen murmured. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that. You’re . . .” She stopped, having spoken more of her mind than she had intended.

“I’m what?” Merlin asked, looking up at her, finally locking eyes.

He shuddered under her gaze. It was meant to calm him but it only brought him more pain. The way she had grown and matured. Her face was more contoured, smile lines more evident than they had been, the beginnings of age taking its toll on her.

“Nothing,” she replied, though they both knew that she was speaking of what had become of Merlin after Arthur’s death. She still thought him broken.

He did not reply to her so she stepped away, giving him space and time to be with Gaius. Arthur was silent as well, respecting what Merlin was feeling in his world.

His thumb never stopped rubbing up against Gaius’s wrist. The movement of it was steady and comforting to him. He watched Gaius’s stillness, monitoring it as it went on, unchanged. He wanted to scoop the old man up and embrace him so hard that the life would be trapped inside of him. Instead, he simply held onto the pulse in his wrist, trying with all his might not to cry.

After what seemed like forever, Gaius stirred, letting out a soft sigh before turning his head into his pillows. Merlin sat back, looking the man over and holding his breath until his eyes flickered open and met his own.

“Merlin,” Gaius said weakly, a smile pressing against his cheeks.

The boy smiled back, eyes gleaming with tears. “Gaius.”

“Where are you?” the ailing man asked, a crease in his brow.

“I’m here,” Merlin rushed to answer, taking up the old man’s hand and holding it to his chest. “I’m here now, Gaius. I’m back.”

His smile widened. “I hoped that I would see you again.”

“And you have,” Merlin replied, voice dripping with sorrow. “And I’m not going anywhere, Gaius. I will stay by your side.”

Gaius squeezed Merlin’s hand with little strength and closed his eyes. “I’ve missed you, my boy.”

Merlin’s breath hitched at the affectionate tone in his mentor’s voice when he called him that. “I’ve missed you too,” he said, tears spilling over and slipping down his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have left Gaius I . . . I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do.”

Gaius shushed him and opened his eyes again. “I know.” He gazed at Merlin’s tear stricken face and said, “Come now, look at the mess you’re making.” Merlin let his hand slip from his grasp as it came up to rub away the tears.

He let out a small laugh at Gaius’s fussing but the devastation could be heard seeping through. “I never wanted to leave,” he whispered.

“But you did,” Gaius reprimanded. There was no grudge in his voice, however. “And you cannot change that now, Merlin.”

“I know.”

“I think,” the old man mused, “that the time you spent away might have done you some good.”

Another wet laugh came. “It did, Gaius. It did. I only wish that I had come back sooner.”

“As do I, my boy.”

Merlin took Gaius’s hand in his own again and held tight to it as he battled the sorrow swelling up inside of him with a smile to comfort the dying man.

“Merlin, I want you to know something.”

“What is it?”

“Ever since you came stumbling into my chambers all those years ago,” he paused and smiled fondly at the memory, “I’ve come to love you like a son.”

“And you have always been like a father to me.”

He grinned. “I know, my boy. But I must let you know that I never doubted you for a second. You have done great things, Merlin. And, I believe, you will continue to do even more, greater things.”

Merlin tried to smile, but the impending moment of his mentor’s passing was too heavy on him. It was closed lip smile that accompanied a frown in his eyes. When he attempted a grin, all it granted was a sharp intake of breath and a soft stifled sob.

 _“You_ were great to me,” Merlin finally said, squeezing Gaius’s hand once more.

He waited, plastering a smile on his face for the sake of the old man, but nothing followed. His chest stilled and his eyes closed. Merlin held his hand closer and rubbed his thumb along his wrist but there was nothing there.

Gwen left the room then. She felt that she’d seen too much, had invaded enough already. The queen closed the door and took a few steps out towards the stairs and sat down on the topmost step. Putting her head in her hands, she waited. The halls were silent but for the muffled call of Merlin in the room beyond as he mourned alone.

She half expected to return to him later only to find that he had vanished like before. Alas, that did not happen, as part of her knew it wouldn’t. A long while later, once the sky had turned red with the light of the setting sun, the door opened and he came slowly through it to sit beside her.

He was thin as he always was, though it stood out now, more so than it did before. His layered clothes hung over him like a rack, his belt fastened tight about his hips and boots loose around his ankles. She looked at him then, whilst he stared at the staircase, and noticed how pale he was. It all was so different now; his weight, his skin, his eyes and the way they were always shining despite being rimmed with red or shadowed in black. Now she saw it all coming at her at once. The gleam was as often from tears as it was from happiness. The bags under his eyes were not from reading late or being worked by Arthur. They were from restless nights and dangerous missions that no one knew about. The pink in his face, seen now about his ears and his nose and his eyes and his lips, was not from a cold or his inept immune system that brought him monthly chills and sweats. It was from tears making his face hot and staining his cheeks. It was from nights spent sniffling against his pillow because he couldn’t bear that others know his pain. He refused to be a burden, carrying all his troubles for himself.

Feeling her eyes on him, he smiled and looked back at her. However, he was overwhelmed with melancholy by her appearance. She had grown. She had aged. Her jaw was more prominent and her face was squarer. Her eyes were no longer the round and innocent ones that Merlin had looked into when they first met, but had grown more narrowed. Her nose was flatter and her cheeks were more angular. Smile lines graced her face more prominently. The face he used to see was echoing beneath the one he saw now. It pained him, struck him hard like a knife to the chest, that he was now witnessing all the things he was warned about.

“You’ve grown,” Merlin commented softly, eyeing her with woe.

“So have you,” she replied.

Merlin huffed and looked away. Shaking his head slightly, he said, “No.”

“Merlin,” Gwen sighed, turning to face him better, “where have you been?”

“Away.”

“I need more than that,” the queen pled.

“Please, Gwen.”

“No one knew where you went!” she cried. “You disappeared without a word! For all we knew, you could have been dead! There was no knowing where you were or how to reach you! Where did you go?”

He shook his head. “I had to leave.”

“Why?”

“No one believed me, here,” Merlin replied, looking up at her. “I needed to know what was happening to me but no one would listen. It was like I was playing the fool again.”

“Merlin,” Gwen breathed, “you were ill. We were trying to take care of you. Gaius said—“

“No,” Merlin cut her off, a tear springing to his eye, “I wasn’t sick. I tried to tell you that I wasn’t sick but none of you would let me speak. I needed someone to tell me that I _wasn’t_ mad and I couldn’t get that here, Gwen. None of you would give that to me.”

There was a deadly silence then as they looked away from each other. Then, a thought occurred to the queen. She voiced it. “How did you know that Gaius was dying?”

He looked up at that. He kept his mouth firmly closed, portraying that he was not to give an answer.

“Merlin,” the queen begged, “I need to know what’s happening! You’re my friend!”

“Please,” Merlin responded, looking down at his boots, “don’t say that. I shouldn’t have come back.”

“Why not?” Gwen demanded.

“I can’t . . . All of you, I can’t . . .” He was shaking again, the muscles in his face twitching and his lashes fluttering. His hand jittered as he brought it to his face and rubbed at his eye.

“Can’t _what,_ Merlin?” Gwen shouted. “You need to tell me what is happening! I want to help you!”

“You can’t help me!” Merlin cried in a hoarse whisper. “It’s not . . . It can’t be stopped. It needs to happen. It’s for Arthur.”

“What is?”

He took a deep breath before letting out a long, resigned sigh. “I’ll show you,” he said, standing up and retreating back into Gaius’s chambers. Gwen followed and watched curiously at what the warlock did.

After a few seconds of just standing there with his eyes closed, breathing and trying to prepare himself for what he was about to do, he brought his hands up to his head and began to shake out his hair. As he did so, it seemed to recede back into his head, growing shorter as if tousling it up would pull away the length of it. Then, the took his hands and placed them over his eyes before slowly bringing them down his face, seemingly rubbing away the whiskers on his chin and leaving behind a smooth, hairless jaw.

Gwen had to stifle a gasp at what she saw. Before her stood Merlin, the same Merlin she had seen all those years ago. Not a thing had changed about him. It were as if his face had been preserved beneath the beard and the hair that shadowed his brow. He had not aged. He looked away from her, towards the body on the bed, now draped with a thin sheet.

“I went to Ealdor,” he muttered. “I spent a few months with my mother, telling her what had happened. But, I left. I knew that, if you were to search for me, that would be the first place you’d look. She promised not to tell you that I’d been there. I told her that I needed time on my own and, by your reaction when I returned, she kept her promise.

“Then I spent some time with the Druid nomads. I had originally sought them out for answers but, after they’d told me what I wanted, I stayed and I learnt.” He stopped and let his eyes drift away from Gaius and onto the floor.

“What were you seeking?” Gwen questioned, taking a hesitant step forward.

“What you wouldn’t give me,” Merlin answered. He grimaced and sniffled in attempts to keep his tears at bay. He shook his head with that same twitching movement that Gwen had noticed before. “I’m not mad, Gwen,” he said, looking to her with sad, betrayed eyes. “The Druids, they said that I was right. What happened to me and Arthur it-it _bound_ us together. Part of his soul is still with me and mine with him. It is _him_ that’s speaking to me. He can see and hear and feel through me whilst all I can do is hear him talk, but that is _so much_ to me. And all you would say is that I’m ill or that I’m tired and that I should take a rest and go to sleep and think about something completely irrelevant to what mattered!” His breath hitched and he looked away again. “And he _saw_ you. He watched as you ignored me.”

“Merlin,” Gwen breathed, tears filling her eyes, “I’m sorry.”

“You should be saying that to him as well,” Merlin uttered. He squinted his eyes shut for a moment before continuing. “But you won’t, will you? You still wouldn’t.”

“Merlin, please,” Gwen wept, stepping forwards. She reached out to him but he shied away and she pulled he hand back, clutching it to her chest as if it had been hurt.

Again, he shook his head at her. “He’s here, Gwen. He can see everything. He told me that Gaius was dying! He could feel him coming closer to Avalon and he still does now. And do you know what he’s saying to me now?”

“No, Merlin,” Gwen replied, shaking her head and holding back her own sorrow.

“He wants me to get you to listen!” Merlin cried. “He’s trying so hard to get you to see sense! He wants to be there for you and you just keep pushing both of us away!”

“Stop it! Merlin, stop it! Please!” Gwen grabbed him then, snatching him up and shaking him by the shoulders.

His head kept shaking and he kept blinking those twitching eyes of his. “Look at me! Gwen, look at me!”

She did so, stopping but still gripping tight to flesh of Merlin’s shoulder. She looked up at him defiantly, not willing to let Merlin drag her into his madness.

“Do you remember when you two eloped together?” he asked, leaning down and whispering into her ear. “Before Uther caught you in the woods by that creek? Do you remember what he said to you then?”

She said nothing but her eyes screamed that it was true.

“He’s saying the same thing to me now, Gwen. He wants you to believe me because it is only truth that I shall ever speak to you. He said . . . he said that he’d leave Camelot. He told you that he had dreams of leaving the luxuries of the castle and becoming a farmer.” Merlin let out a small laugh as he repeated the words in his ear. He pulled away slightly and looked into Gwen’s eyes as he continued. “And you told him-you told him that he could never do field work and he said that he’d take me to do it all for him . . . I _can_ hear him Gwen! How else would I have known that?”

Tears were rolling slowly down her face and Merlin took his thumb and swiped one from the side of her nose. She let out a small sob and lunged forwards, embracing Merlin is a tight hug. Merlin held her as she trembled in his grasp, the realization as to what she’d done hitting her hard in the heart.

“I’m so sorry, Merlin,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I drove you away. I’m so, so sorry.”

And then she continued to weep and to sob for so many reasons. Her mind was doing flips over the things she’d learnt; that Merlin wasn’t mad, that Arthur was alive in him, that her friend did not age, that she’d driven Merlin away.

“You’re not mad,” she assured him as she cried. “You were never mad. I’m so sorry, Merlin. I’m sorry _Arthur!_ I’m sorry.”

Merlin shushed her then. “It’s okay,” he replied, hugging her tighter. He craned his neck and planted a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We forgive you.”

 

 

Merlin requested that Gaius be buried immediately and, although it was no warrior’s funeral, it was nicely arranged and he had many friends come to see him pass. Afterwards, Gwen, Merlin, and the knights, those who knew him best, all held a small, personal feast for celebrations.

Though it was not commented on, no one missed the way Merlin would fade away from his friends from time to time, often choosing to stare off into nothingness and seemingly becoming unaware of what happened around him. The knights worried for the boy but Gwen would always urge that Gwaine finish his story or that Percival complete his joke to keep them from questioning him.

_“Merlin.”_

_“What?”_

_“He’s here, Merlin. He’s here and he’s safe.”_

_“How is he?”_

_“Oh, he’s a mess, if I’m honest.”_

_“Why? What’s happened?”_

_“He’s distraught. He keeps apologizing for what he made you go through.”_

_“Tell him he is forgiven.”_

_“I will and I have. He’s missed you, Merlin.”_

_“And I him.”_

There was a pause when Merlin simply let the presence of Arthur grip at his heart again, warming the cold feel of loss that had settled there. Then, he said, _“Arthur?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“I thought you said that Avalon makes the soul pure.”_

_“I did.”_

_“Then how is it that Gaius can feel these things? How is sadness and sorrow and anger allowed to prevail?”_

_“The way it has been explained to me, Merlin, is that no emotion is evil in any way. They are all needed to make a person whole. Joy brings hope and optimism. Love brings peace, caring. But sadness and loss also brings a knowledge of existence and an understanding of life, which are essential for one to be human. Anger provides righteousness and a mental law of right and wrong. Fear must be present for bravery and for caution._

_“When someone comes to this place, they are not necessarily_ purified. _It is more like their souls are restored to their purest state. Morgana still remembers and still feels her hatred towards my father and me, only it has receded within her, as if it had happened in the past. It is like people are redeemed, restored to their most righteous moment.”_

_“So, when are you?”_

There was a pause as Arthur contemplated this. His hot hold on Merlin loosened a bit as he drifted away, trying to find an answer.

_“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t really know when anyone is. I suppose I must be sometime after your magic was revealed, for that was when I realized the flaws in my beliefs but . . . I don’t think I can pinpoint exactly where my mind now comes from.”_

Merlin considered this. _“You know . . . maybe it isn’t a specific moment. Perhaps it is simply all of a person’s greatest times in life mashed together. Whenever you were brave or selfless or understanding; it all became one moment. From what you tell me, you all still have every part of yourselves, except the best of what you are comes forward.”_

 _“I think you may be right, Merlin,”_ Arthur agreed with a smile in his tone. _“Um, you may want to return to your friends, Merlin. I believe you’re being stared at.”_

Merlin blinked and found his peripheral vision consumed by a sum of worried knights and a cautious queen. He turned to face them, face red and nervous.

“You alright, mate?” Gwaine asked, his normally animated eyes turned soft with concern.

“Yeah,” Merlin said sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

And thus, the celebration continued.

 

 

It became well known of what had befallen Merlin, how his madness was true and yet false all at once. He did think himself broken, as did everyone else, but he was never entirely lost. Arthur’s voice within his mind was real and ringing truths. However, he still twitched and forgot things. Often he would speak as if he were living in a world that existed years ago. Even Arthur would admit to Merlin’s mental downfall, though he never mentioned it. Merlin could feel him worry though, whenever he had an episode or a breakdown.

They never came often. He was fairly good of getting himself under control _before_ he felt a breakdown coming on, but not always.

 

 

The first incident occurred only a few months or so after he returned to Camelot. Gwen had kept his mental state a private matter. After all, it barely handicapped him and, when it did, it wasn’t a drastic drawback. And Arthur was always there to help. However, because of the unintentional emotional abuse he had endured, back when Gwen and Gaius and his friends refused to believe him, he often would doubt himself.

The townspeople did not help matters and not even the queen herself could stop the rumors.

After resting during the days following Gaius’s passing, having become physically and emotionally exhausted from revealing his immortality to Gwen and confessing all sorts of things to her about the time he had spent away (along with having her promise not to tell the others about his lifespan), he finally let himself outside, braving up to face the people who judged him so cruelly.

He felt so small. It was strange. He was this big, legendary thing, born with power greater than all around, immune to the relief of death, and yet he felt puny beside these people. They all either glowered or glared at him if they were even looking at him at all. Many averted their eyes and some expressed pity or disgust or just a general lack of understanding.

They all whispered around him, voices he couldn’t stop himself from listening to. They brushed past his ears and tickled his brain with all the hurtful things that were said.

“He’s mad. He shouldn’t be let outside.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“Don’t look at him.”

_“Merlin, stop.”_

“All that power and no mind?”

“His wit’s been stolen from him.”

_“Merlin.”_

“It’s the magic. It’s finally corrupted him like it’s meant to.”

“He’s not so mighty anymore.”

_“Stop listening to them.”_

“I thought he left.”

“He should have.”

“We all’d be better off with that thing gone.”

“He’s just a tragedy waiting to happen.”

_“Please, Merlin, stop.”_

“He probably killed the king.”

“All that madness is going to ignite that power and then we’ll all be dead.”

“He killed the king.”

“Why would he do that? He used to be so kind.”

“It’s the magic. It’s corrupted him.”

_“They’re not true.”_

“Either his death drove him insane or the madness took over and he killed him.”

“I think he’s been mad from the start.”

“Aye. It’s just been getting worse.”

_“Merlin, you know they know nothing.”_

“He killed the king.”

“Aye.”

“He must have.”

“He killed the king.”

“He killed the king.”

“He killed the king.”

“He killed the king.”

_“Merlin!”_

His eyes were rolling about wildly in their sockets, darting from person to person as the traitorous rumor plagued his mind. He ducked his head and his hands twitched at his side, wanting to block out the noisy ramblings but, for some reason unknown to himself, being unable to. His legs shook beneath him and the stares got worse the more agitated he appeared. Head jerking to the side whenever a voice was too loud or too harsh, he scrambled and staggered as he walked.

He didn’t even realize where he was going. He just needed to be away. He needed to keep moving until it was all gone. But it never was. It always followed him. The voices, the accusations, the prejudice; they would never leave him be. And he tried to calm down and he tried to think and he tried to find his way back to the castle but his mind was pushing and pulling in all sorts of directions. Arthur babbled on inside of him, trying to settle him down, but it didn’t work. His voice just mingled in with the rest of them and Merlin blocked them all out until, finally, he couldn’t hear anything.

 

 

Leon found him and took him home. He was lying in an alley a while away from the castle, heaped against the wall of a peasant’s home. Carefully, he lifted him up and carried him home.

He’d moved into Gaius’s old chambers, turning the room into a study for both magic and science. Arthur’s rooms still belonged to him though, gifted by the queen. The knights opened the door with his foot and entered the musty old place, herbs and medicines everywhere. Then, he brought Merlin to the bed and laid him gently inside.

It concerned him that the boy was so still. He had not stirred in the slightest since he’d found him.

When Gwen arrive, having been alerted to his collapse by the guards Leon had spoken to, she rushed in to check him over before calling upon Alice, who had arrived in Camelot weeks before. She had been sought out, by Merlin’s request, to be informed of Gaius’s passing. When all was settled, she offered to replace him as the nurse of Camelot (alongside Merlin of course) and received her own studies.

The old woman was baffled. It was unlike anything she had seen before. “His reaction was natural,” she said aloud. “It should have been a mental breakdown like any other; perhaps sensory overload or nerves. Gilli was there. From what he said, he was breathing heavy, twitching, all normal signs of panic.”

“But?”

“But, he’s unresponsive. It’s as if he’s completely shut himself out from the world.”

No matter how hard anyone tried, it was unexplainable. No one knew what ailed Merlin, and he remained a hollow shell for two days before Gwen had a sudden thought.

“Alice!” the queen cried, rushing into Merlin’s medical chambers.

“What is it?”

“Merlin! Gaius said once that he had complete control over his senses!”

“Yes?”

“He said that he could make them as strong or as weak as possible!”

Alice’s eyes widened and her round cheeks puffed out as her mouth dropped open. “You think he’s stopped them!”

“Yes!”

The excitement was unadulterated as they huddled together about the boy’s cot. However, the cheerful air soon left them as Alice gave her diagnosis.

“I’m afraid that there’s nothing we can do for him. He’s done this to himself. Only he can bring himself out. He’s on his own with his thoughts. We must wait until it is _his_ decision to return to us.”

 

 

Five days, Merlin was empty for. He was trapped inside his own mind and he held the key to escape in his hands but he just couldn’t bring himself to use it. For a long time, he was all on his own. And he liked it, to a point. There was no ridicule, no pain, no sorry faces, no worried friends, no inevitable death of those he loved. They were all gone. They didn’t exist inside of his head unless he wanted them to and. Though they were mere echoes of who they truly were, they were always happy and everlasting inside his mind.

But he couldn’t keep Arthur away forever. He could feel his soul turn itself in knots the longer he kept him away. So, eventually, he had to let him in.

 

 

All rejoiced when the warlock woke, the knights and queen and all his friends not wanting to spend a moment longer without their beloved royal magician. Merlin was joyful too. After a good scolding from Arthur and a few shared jokes to help him through, he was willing to return to the land of the living and carry on with his life.

He cried, though. When the initial rave that conspired upon his wakening ended he felt all the pain seep back into him.

Much counseling was needed from both Arthur and his living friends. Gaius even put in a few good words for Arthur to pass on. He suddenly wanted to leave the city again, be alone for as long as he lived. But he couldn’t. He did not wish to hurt his friends again. So, he stayed. He always stayed. And, when, on the rare occasion, he didn’t, he always came back.

 

 

And, as the years went on, Gwaine, Leon, Percival, and all of Merlin’s other friends slowly became aware of Merlin’s persisting age. As Gwaine’s beard grew thick and full, Merlin’s chin was smooth as a babe’s skin. As Percival fancied smile lines and prominent creases, Merlin’s face was young and unchanged. As Leon’s hair grew long and his past injuries got the best of him, causing him to retire, Merlin still walked with youth in his bones. After so much time, it was impossible to be unaware of the warlock’s immortality.

They all silently accepted it and vowed never to bring it directly to his attention after a warning from Gwen about how it triggered him. The boy wasn’t fool enough not to notice the sad looks them sometimes gave him though. He knew they were sorry for his fate but he refused to acknowledge it, instead opting to smile and carry on merrily with the day.

Soon rumors became facts and all the kingdom knew of the rare phenomenon that lived within the castle walls. Often people would visit the city just for a chance the glimpse at the wondrous being that dwelled there. Most were disappointed, however, for Merlin appeared ordinary to the eye and his unnatural ability to retain life could only be seen with passing time.

Merlin was liked and looked up to by all sorts of magical beings. Many people without magic also idolized him as a peacemaker and a brave soul. Soon his story was heard throughout all the land; the tale of the peasant boy who served the son of Uther, protecting him and the kingdom with his hidden, unlawful magic.

There were still those who disliked him though; those who feared him, those who hated him, those who were still prejudice against magic. Often he would get that boiling urge to leave again and lift the burden of his presence from the people he loved, to spare them the misfortunes that seemed to live in his shadow and follow his footsteps.

But he stayed. He always stayed. Camelot was his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE chapter after this one. The next is the LAST! I hope you all had as much fun reading as I did writing!


	16. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin waits.

Merlin was like an old book; a thick, heavy book with many volumes and chapters and glossaries that couldn’t possibly be read in one sitting. He was impossibly aged and was sometimes left on the shelf for years at a time, dusty and forgotten. But then, someone would pick him up out of curiosity or just by chance and he would be read again, though never completed. A book is full of knowledge and, if any person could be compared to a book, they would be considered wise, which Merlin was. A book is filled with words and stories and tales and tools and weapons and monsters and poisons and antidotes and people with faces and feelings and lives that create whole other stories on their own. But a book does not feel and, as time went on and Merlin became more and more like a book, he too went numb.

But Arthur would always bring him back.

 

 

Gwen was the last of them to die. She’d lived old and healthy. The other’s had noble deaths as well. Alice died of age, just as her lover had. Merlin’s mother had come to live in Camelot after a few years, when she was too old and too brittle to work in the fields any longer. Merlin worked hard and loved her and took care of her until she too passed. Leon aged nicely until his many battle wounds got the better of him and he began to have aches and pains that were unimaginable. Merlin let him go, helped ease his passing. Percival left him on a noble quest to slay a giant. He succeeded but not before being mortally wounded. He saved many lives that day and Merlin was by his side as he slowly drifted into oblivion. Gilli fell in battle, fighting alongside sorcerers and knights alike. He was one of many casualties but the war was one. Merlin knew he wouldn’t have minded, he’d died doing something purposeful with his magic and that’s all the man ever wanted. Gwaine died of natural causes, though he was quite young. Merlin blamed all the drinking and eating too much that did him no good. He and Gwen sat with him on his last night, chatting away and reminiscing. He died laughing. And so on, every man, woman, and child that Merlin had known from his first life faded away until it was only him and Guinevere.

The queen had fallen ill and word of it spread like wildfire. Kings and queens and emperors of all the neighboring kingdoms had want of Camelot and, with no heir, there was little that Gwen could do to preserve the Pendragon reign. Merlin was her spokesperson, telling the people what she needed them to hear. He relayed messages as well as cared for his queen. She was all he had left after all.

 As the queen ailed, Merlin stood by her, protecting the kingdom in her name. She was his last connection to Arthur, the only person left that could prove to him that the voice he heard inside was real. He needed her to stay sane and yet he had to let her go.

On Guinevere’s final night, Merlin sat on the edge of her bed, holding her hand in his and looking sadly down at the wrinkles in her skin and the grey curls that were strewn about her pillow. He was holding her there and yet she’d grown so far away from him.

 _“You have little time, Merlin,”_ Arthur warned him.

_“I know.”_

_“Please, let her be comfortable.”_

_“Of course.”_

“Gwen,” Merlin ushered, drawing the queen into a firmer consciousness.

“Merlin,” Guinevere rasped back. Her voice was low and foreign to him, but he replaced it with the young, smooth singsong that he’d once heard in his mind.

The boy’s eyes sparkled with tears as he smiled down at his aging friend. “Arthur is waiting for you,” he whispered softly with a smile tugging on his lips. It warmed his heart that the lovers would be reunited at last and he could feel Arthur wrapping those hot fingers around him, burning with the anticipation of holding his wife in his arms again.

Gwen grinned, her smile bright as ever and her eyes still shining. “Well he’s going to have to hold on a little longer.”

They both chuckled, despite the woe that fogged the room. Merlin’s eyes crinkled with a sad smile and Gwen’s wrinkles revealed years of smile lines, etched into her face as if a river as ebbed away at the groves, making patterns of tendrils all about her face.

Merlin’s smile fell and he looked Gwen sorrowfully in the eyes. He wished he could take the young girl he saw in them and pull her out so that she could last forever with him. With every breath she took his heart throbbed more painfully with the almighty loss he was about to experience. “You’re a great friend, Gwen. I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Oh, Merlin,” the queen sighed, pressing her lips into a thin smile. “You may still speak to me through Arthur. None of us would ever abandon you.”

“I know,” Merlin said, barely a whisper, “but, without this,” he squeezed her hands, “how can I know that . . . know that this was all real? For how long will I have to be alone and wondering if the people in my head hold truth in their words?”

“But you know they are real Merlin,” Gwen assured. “You _know_ that it is Arthur speaking to you.”

“But what will time do to that?” Merlin questioned, lip quivering. “One day, all the people that you’ve ever known will be gone and I will still be here when there is not a trace of you left. How will I know then that Arthur is not of my own mind?”

“You must believe that he isn’t, Merlin,” Gwen advised.

“How?”

Gwen’s eyes brightened with tears as she looked up at her hopeless friend. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But you must.”

Merlin nodded, looking away from her.

“Merlin,” Gwen called out again, causing the boy to turn back to her. “Don’t ever let yourself be alone.”

The young man sniffled and nodded with a watery smile. Then he felt her hands shift beneath his own and he watched as she took one and drew something out from beneath the blankets. She placed it in his palm before closing his fingers around it. He looked at her in puzzlement.

“It is the royal seal, Merlin,” she told him. “Camelot is yours now.”

“No,” Merlin said immediately. “No, I cannot rule.”

“There is no one else I trust more than you with this kingdom,” the queen said. “You are the only one I believe is worthy to take this kingdom from me. You practically made it what it is today after all.”

“No,” Merlin said again. “No one should rule without a death. I cannot be a king forever and I don’t wish to be.”

“But you must take it, Merlin,” Guinevere insisted, brushing away the boy’s attempts to return the seal to her.

“Then I will keep it,” Merlin finally decided, “and I shall hold onto it until Arthur returns. But I shall not rule Camelot. I shall only protect it.”

Again, Gwen offered him that faint, thin smile. “I know you will,” she said at last. She took Merlin’s hand in her own one last time before closing her eyes.

“Gwen?” Merlin called hesitantly. When he received no response, he put his ear to her chest only to find that neither breath nor heartbeat could be heard. Then, he kissed her on the forehead and began to weep.

 

 

Merlin did as he had promised and, as Camelot stood with an empty throne, he protected it with all his might. But that was not enough. King Lot was the one to eventually overpower him, using sorcerers of his own; traitors, liars, hopeless men and women offered riches that they would likely never get. And they took Merlin and subdued him for long enough that they were able to encase him inside a tomb and lock him away beneath the castle.

He tried with all the power he had but he could not break through the stone coffin that imprisoned him. Arthur spoke to him all the while, informing him on what information he could gather from the deceased. Many people died when Lot took Camelot and they all spoke to their true king, saying kind things about the kingdom’s magical guardian. The people had no choice but to give in to submission after Merlin fell and those who would not were slaughtered.

And so, Merlin was left alone. For an unmeasurable amount of time he was surrounded by nothing but darkness and silence. The only thing that could be heard was his own breathing, his own movements, and the voice he trusted inside his head.

“None of it,” Merlin said aloud, if only so that he could hear his own voice.

_“None of what?”_

“Everything.”

_“What are you talking about?”_

“None of it, no—none of it was real.”

_“Merlin, what are you saying?”_

“Shh! Shh! Shh—shut up! Shh!” He hit the lid of the tomb with his hands.

_“Merlin, calm down.”_

“No! No, stop! Stop talking!”

_“I’m here, Merlin. All of it was real. All of your memories, all of your friends; they’re all real, Merlin.”_

“No.”

_“Yes.”_

“Why?”

_“You’ve been alone for a long time is all. Look in your pocket.”_

“I can’t see.”

_“Yes you can.”_

“No.”

_“You know you can.”_

“There’s no light. I can’t see. I can’t see.”

_“Make light.”_

Suddenly, Merlin felt that he understood what Arthur meant, and he conjured an orb of light to illuminate the small confines of his tomb. Then, as it hovered in the small place between his chest and the lid, he dug through his pockets. From them he drew the Pendragon seal. His mind numbed at the sight of it and he gently let his fingers explore the grooves and patterns that made up the dragon emblem. As memories solidified within his mind, he began to breathe faster and heavier.

“It’s real. It’s real, Arthur!”

_“I know, Merlin. You have to get out of here.”_

“I can’t! Arthur it’s all real!”

_“Why not?”_

“It’s enchanted! The whole thing is enchanted! It cannot be opened from the inside!”

_“Stay calm.”_

“I can’t! Arthur, I can’t! How long have I been here?”

_“I don’t know.”_

“Please!” Merlin screamed as he began to bang on the stone slab that encased him. “Please! Arthur, Please!”

_“I can’t help you, Merlin.”_

“Please. You’re real. You’re real. Please.”

_“I’m dead, Merlin. All I can give you is company.”_

“Please.”

_“I’m sorry.”_

“It’s all real,” Merlin whispered as his pants turned into sobs. “All of it, it was all real. You’re gone, Arthur. You’re gone.”

_“I know.”_

“I’m alone. Please.”

_“I’m sorry, Merlin. I’m so sorry.”_

Numbers didn’t matter. Time didn’t matter. Merlin had nothing but Arthur’s voice for so long that he barely recognized light when it greeted him after such dense darkness. He just lied there, dying over and over again, mostly of thirst. Every few days he’d drift away only to come back again, weak and disoriented. All of it was so maddening that, when someone finally did discover him, he didn’t even notice. In fact, he had just newly died.

So, when he opened his eyes, he was incredibly surprised to find the warm glow of a torch and new air. He gasped, gulping it down a dry throat. Then, he heard someone yell and the torchlight flickered about around him before he heard a thud. He looked over to see a man dressed in dark clothing with the torch in his hands. His eyes were round and petrified.

“You! You’re real! It’s him! It’s the kingdom’s guardian! It’s Emrys!”

More footsteps echoed about in the darkness and scrapes grinded against his ears as they came closer. People busied themselves around him, all whispering gossip about how he had survived so long, if he really was immortal. Then, he was lifted and a raspy sigh escaped his lips.

_“They’re grave robbers.”_

_“Maybe.”_

_“Or looters.”_

_“I need their help.”_

_“You can’t trust them.”_

_“I wasn’t planning on it. I just need to let them help me.”_

Suddenly, there was a haggard face in front of his own. He squinted against the torchlight beside him to see. It was a dim flame but, to him, it was blinding.

“He’s conscious.”

“Let me see.”Another equally filthy face replaced the other one. “Can you speak?”

Merlin parted his lips to talk but all that would come out was a garbled crackling. His throat was too parched and his tongue too dry. His voice couldn’t find its way out. Luckily, the gruesome thirst he portrayed got his point across.

“He needs water,” the man announced. “You! Give it here!”

A waterskin was pressed to his lips and he drank eagerly, sucking from the nozzle as if it contained sweet honey instead of stale water. Soon it was emptied and he laid back against whatever they had propped him up on and just focused on breathing.

The world around him was a haze, bodies moving past him and voices humming through the air. Eventually, he became aware that he was being lifted and carried away. Then, he was placed down near a proper fire. The heat felt so foreign and so comforting on his skin that he let out a small moan in content. However, as he lay there, his stomach began to turn and twist inside him until he heaved up a spout of watery bile.

He felt the people around him rush to clean the mess and move him away from the vile stuff. A cloth was pressed to his chin and whipped away the dribble. Then, a hand was pressed to his chest and another was rubbing circles in his back. He then realized that he was coughing and wheezing violently. He struggled to control his breath and they laid him back down.

Days went by and he was cared for by these strangers. Eventually they got the hang of feeding him warm broth in smaller increments so that he did not vomit. With time, he was able to maintain both his stomach and his consciousness.

_“You’re still under the castle.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Are they keeping you there?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“You’re nearly healed.”_

_“I want to get out.”_

_“I know.”_

“Hey.”

Merlin looked to the side of his makeshift bed to find the face of one of the younger men. He eyed him cautiously, wondering if they would let him free willingly.

“It’s been a few weeks since we found you.” He waited for an answer but Merlin refused to give him one. “I was just wondering, uh, if you were really him . . . Do you talk at all?”

A small smile curled onto Merlin’s lips and he replied, “No.”

The boy huffed a laughed. “So, is it true? Are you Emrys?”

“My name is Merlin,” he corrected, wondering if his true name was still known to the people’s minds.

“So you are him,” the boy confirmed.

_“You’re some sort of celebrity now, aren’t you?”_

“Shut up,” Merlin chuckled.

“What?” the boy questioned.

Startled, having not realized that he had spoken aloud, Merlin said, “Sorry. I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Oh,” he replied, dumbfounded, “okay. Um, I brought you some broth. It’s a bit more than usual. They say your stomach’s getting better.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said, taking the bowl and setting it in his lap.

The boy stood and dragged Merlin into a sitting position so that he could eat. He thanked him again and began his meal.

“How long were you in there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are the stories true?”

“Depends on what the stories are.”

“They say that King Lot hid you away when he conquered Camelot.”

Merlin scoffed. “I wouldn’t say he conquered it. He _stole it._ And, as far as I’m concerned, he is no king. He’s a tyrant.”

“I hear he was ruthless.”

“Was?” Merlin questioned. “King Lot is dead?”

“Yes!” The boy said, rather astonished by Merlin’s obliviousness. “He’s been dead for many years now.”

“Who is it that vanquished him?”

“No one. No, he died of old age and his son took the throne.”

“His son?” Merlin asked. “How long has it been since King Lot was at the throne?”

“A few generations I believe.”

“And who rules Camelot now?”

The boy paused and something showed in his face, something resembling remorse or devastation. However, he quickly masked it. “No one.”

Merlin stared at the boy with wide eyes for a few moments before digging through his pockets. When he found them empty, he began to panic. “No, no, no, no,” he mumbled as he tried to get to his feet.

“Easy! You’re meant to be resting!”

The boy tried to keep him down but Merlin was determined. He scrabbled over to the tomb he had been encased in and swept around in the filth and dirt until he found what he was looking for; the royal seal of Camelot. He brought it to the fire and held it out, eyeing the crest in the shadowy light.

A gasp escaped the boy beside him. “That’s the Pendragon crest!”

“Yes.”

“The king gave you this?”

“The queen,” Merlin corrected with a shake of his head.

“So, that means that Camelot would befall to you?”

Merlin gulped. “Yes,” he said, though he hardly wanted to rule it.

There was a silence about the catacomb as all the men came around the fire and realized the extent of Merlin’s knowledge. He’d been buried alive for so long that he’d missed the real world.

“You don’t know,” one of the older, more haggard of them said to him.

“Know what?” Merlin prompted, standing up straight and looking down at the man.

“Camelot, the kingdom, it was destroyed over a decade ago.”

“What?” Merlin gasped, not believing his ears. He could feel Arthur hammering on inside of him, his fear evident as well.

“The whole city, it was abandoned when Lot’s line died out. All that are left are the poor and the criminals.”

“No,” Merlin denied. “No, Camelot would never fall.”

“I’m sorry,” the man said, not knowing what else could be done.

Merlin’s heart pounded in his chest and his mind raced to find some excuse or some reason as to why these people would be lying to him. But they were looters or robbers or refugees and it made sense. It all made sense. How else could commoners like them gain access to the vaults or the catacombs.

Something snapped in Merlin and he ran for the stairs. He wanted to doubt it, doubt all that they had said to him. The corridor outside the stairwell was still intact and he allowed a bit of hope to come from that. But as he ventured further away, he could see sunlight shining through the walls in cracks that shouldn’t be there and plants growing out of crevices that had not existed before. Then, as he rounded the corner, he was met with an awful sight.

The castle seemed to disappear. Where there should have been another corridor, there was an open field, filled with rubble and pieces of what once had been the magnificent palace of Camelot. His heart sank, his stomach turned in knots, and his mind went blank. Everything, every material object that could tie himself back to Arthur and Camelot and his friends, was gone; all except the royal seal and the cloak he wore about his shoulders.

The men, the looters, the grave robbers, the thieves, whatever they were, tried to run after him, tried to keep him in the catacombs for more healing, but Merlin ran. He ran until his legs were numb and the tears blurred his vision into blindness. Then, he collapsed, folding on himself in the brush and giving up.

_“Merlin . . .”_

“It’s gone,” Merlin wept.

_“No, Merlin. It can be rebuilt.”_

“By who?”

_“When I return.”_

“And when is that? When? How long am I meant to stay here?”

_“I don’t know.”_

“People just keep leaving me behind and I can’t take it! Please, Arthur! I need you back! I need someone here!”

_“I can’t, Merlin. I don’t know how.”_

“What am I meant to do? There’s no Camelot. There’s no Albion. It’s all gone.”

_“I suppose you’re just meant to wait.”_

“It’s not fair.”

_“I know. But you can wait and learn, Merlin.”_

“What for?” Merlin asked, finding the idea pointless.

 _“Well, I’ll need someone to inform me on what’s happened while I was gone. Might as well just live it through your eyes,”_ Arthur said, trying to lighten the mood.

Merlin offered him a heartless scoff but then he smiled. “Okay. For you, Arthur, I will find out all there is to know about the world.”

 

 

And he did. Merlin travelled and studied and watched as the world went by. He watched people grow, living longer, becoming healthier, getting smarter. He watched technology grow, everything getting bigger and then smaller again in what seemed like a pointless pattern to please the people. Sometimes things were gradual, other times things evolved so quickly that Merlin had to keep from blinking lest he miss it. But the thing that grew the most was the knowledge. And, oh, Merlin loved it. He poured over books and texts and archives. Then he devoured every file, video, and flash drive. Some things were so vast and profound that it left him speechless. Other things were just so beautifully simplistic and pointless that it had the same effect.

Sometimes Merlin would take the form of a child, if only to hide his identity or add some variety to his long life. It was always accompanied by an immature comment from Arthur about how childish he was, even when he aged himself fifty years. It was sometimes easier for him to just be young again. He could run and play and entertain older passersby. Once, a lady took him in, thinking him an orphan, which he was. She raised him as if he were a real child. However, when it became evident that the boy she had adopted did not age, she became increasingly scared. Merlin tried to ignore the cautious looks she began giving him and the way she started keeping him away from other people she knew. But it was all eventually too late. She’d left one day and never returned, leaving him alone once more. He felt betrayed and forgotten as he always did. Arthur did his best to comfort his friend as he twisted and changed into an old, brute man.

Whenever Merlin took the form of an elder, he was often seen as a poor, aged fellow who’d lost his sanity. Merlin often laughed, finding it not to be so far from the truth. He was a bit off his rocker and mumbling to himself about kings and castles and dragons didn’t help his case much.

There were also times when Merlin would become a woman or a young girl. Once he even became a mother and raised an orphan he’d found because he couldn’t bear to leave the poor child behind. However, when that child grew up and questioned why Merlin had not aged, which he often forgot to do, he was forced to reveal himself, hoping to ease the child’s heart and earn an understanding friend. But he had no such luck. The child was horrified and soon there was a bounty on his head.

Often Merlin found himself being hunted down for whatever reason. Sometimes it was for being mistaken as a dangerous madman. A few times he was captured and tested on by people who wanted to learn the secret of his immortality. But not even he knew the answer to that. Sometimes, mostly before technology had truly advanced, they drank his blood or even bathed in it. It made him sick to see what some people would do to another person to obtain such a curse. Once, he was put up in a circus and a charming yet nasty lady killed him repeatedly for entertainment. Eventually it went as far as letting audience members abuse him. A few times, a herd of angry Christians, superstitious fools, or skeptical, paranoid believers in the otherworldly would attack him, believing that either his powers or his immortality was work of the devil or demons. He’d been executed in more ways than he could remember and each time there was a furious and yet comforting Arthur raging on inside his head.

He’d also been admitted to a number of different mental hospitals. Some of the earlier ones abused him with shock therapy or sick experiments on how to cure the mind. Some of the newer institutions were surprisingly nice though. He would be brought in after being found wondering the streets or talking aloud to himself and treated like royalty. People brought him food and entertainment without complaint. He knew he was mad to an extent. He would often forget to talk to Arthur mentally and would instead ramble on to thin air, letting onlookers believe him to be crazy. Other times he was driven insane by the possibility that Arthur was not real and that Camelot was but a sick fantasy that he had created for himself.

“I told you they’d put me in the loony bin again,” Merlin said once to an empty room, slightly drugged. He sat up against the wall hugging himself from within the straight jacket.

 _“You were screaming in the streets,”_ Arthur chastised. _“You can’t keep doing this, Merlin. You nearly hurt someone.”_

“Shh,” Merlin hushed, pursing his lips and tilting his head. “Don’t talk.”

_“They can hear you right now, Merlin. You’ll be in there longer if you don’t shut up!”_

“You need to shut up,” Merlin replied, looking melancholy. “You’re not supposed to be here. Only my voice should be in my head.”

_“Please, Merlin. Just listen to me. You’ve had another breakdown. If you just get out of here, you can go to the lake and find the cloak and the royal seal. You’ll remember, alright?”_

“There’s not there. They’re not real.”

_“Yes they are.”_

“Please go away. I don’t want to be sick anymore.”

_“They’re going to look you up, Merlin. They’re going to look for you in their computers and they won’t find you. Then you’ll really be in trouble.”_

“It’s not my fault I’m so old.”

_“I know. I know, but you can’t get rid of me, Merlin.”_

“Shh!” Merlin hushed again, more sharply. “You’re not allowed to talk!”

_“Merlin, listen to me!”_

“Please,” Merlin cried, suddenly expressing great sadness. “Go away. You keep getting me hurt. I don’t want to remember so much! It’s too much!”

_“I know it’s a lot, but it’s all true. Camelot was real, I’m real, and everything since then has been real. You just need time to collect yourself.”_

“There’s so much,” Merlin sobbed, sliding down the wall and laying on his side. “It’s all sad and old and weird. And everyone here says I’m wrong.”

_“They don’t know as much as we do, Merlin. They’re not old enough or young enough to believe in magic.”_

“Magic isn’t real, she said—“

_“She’s wrong, Merlin. Remember what you said?”_

“No.”

 _“’Magic is just a science they haven’t explained yet,’”_ Arthur quoted.

“I didn’t say that.”

_“Yes you did!”_

“Why?” Merlin asked, crying again. “Why is there so much in my head?”

_“Because you’re old, Merlin; older than you should be. But I promise things will be better if you hold on to those memories. You don’t want to forget. I know you don’t, not really. I promise that, when I come back, you’ll be glad you kept everything.”_

“When will you be back, Arthur?” Merlin whispered into the floor, saying his king’s name for the first time, admitting his existence.

 _“I don’t know,”_ he answered honestly. _“Will you get yourself out of here, Merlin? You don’t belong here.”_

Merlin sighed, fogging over the tile floor. “I will. But I’m going to wait a while. I want a break.”

_“Okay.”_

And Merlin was treated on by kind nurses and knowledgeable doctors. He let them ask him questions about Arthur and about this other life that he had. He liked to talk to them about what it was like in Camelot. It helped him stay intact with who he really was. Eventually though, time went on and he’d forgotten to age. So, when the staff and patients began to have strange whispered questions regarding the ever young, mad patient that claimed he’d known ancient kings, Merlin made sure that he vanished.

 

 

Merlin did all that he could to keep in touch with his true self. He would often look up books and movies and any other sort of adaptions that were inspired by Arthur’s legend. Arthur would often jokingly gloat at the name, Arthurian Legend, to strike some fun at Merlin. None of the adaptions were accurate though. Merlin was often a wise, old advisor that aided Arthur as known and respected wizard.

_“You didn’t really help my father steal my mother from the Duke of Cornwall , did you?”_

_“No! I wasn’t even born yet! I don’t think this duke even existed.”_ Merlin replied mentally one day whilst reading through old texts in a library.

_“And Nimueh?”_

_“I killed her! You know that!”_

_“And why do they think that I was raised by common folk?”_

_“I don’t know. Geoffrey must have taken a bit too much advantage of his artistic license . . . or is this a Malory addition?”_

_“I’ll say, Merlin the wild,”_ Arthur mocked.

 _“I wouldn’t talk, Wart,”_ Merlin retaliated.

Arthur pretended not to hear. _“And why did you sing in that one movie? Where did anyone get the idea that you could sing?”_

_“Oi! I can sing.”_

_“Are you joking? Those few years when you soloed in the one choir were awful! Do you know how hard it is to live with your singing voice my head all the time?”_

_“Arthur, you don’t live.”_

_“You know what I mean.”_

It was wonder to Merlin and very surreal to Arthur how people not only discovered more of the world but more of themselves. People discovered new races, new genders, new opportunities for relationships. Of course they had all existed in their time, they realized, but none of it had ever had a proper name and was frowned upon because of how foreign and unknown it was. It lightened Merlin’s heart to see them all discover themselves and be slowly accepted by all.

When the people discovered new things, however, there always seemed to be a period of denial or resistance. For some reason, the human species didn’t seem to like change. So, people were often enslaves, slaughters, treated for illnesses they didn’t have, and forced to hide who they were. Even after concepts of new discoveries were at last accepted, those who were different from the strict society norm would be discriminated against for years to come before it all finally settled into place, often with a little help from a certain warlock.

 

 

The only thing that truly puzzled them was the way magic was slowly drained from the world. Year by year it became less and less common. Merlin suggested that they’d been killed off by religious groups or those who opposed magic or witchcraft. Arthur thought that may have all just traveled away, though Merlin knew that was entirely unlikely. However, he knew it still existed, if in small numbers. There were always random miracles or insanely impossible magicians that made Merlin believe that magic was still out there. Some of the miracles were hoaxes and some of the magicians were frauds, but there _was_ a handful of genuine magic left in the world, though none of it as strong and ancient as his own.

Many centuries passed and Merlin watched it all like some sort of sick time lapse. Wars came and went and mass numbers of innocent as well as terrible people died. And each time Merlin would have this gruesome desire for it to be the worst war yet so that Arthur would return, but it never was. Eventually, all conflicts were resolved. After over a thousand years, everything was finally perfect. All people of every appearance, gender, and personality became accepted. The world was in a state of utopia. There had been no wars or conflicts for decades on end and even magic had begun to grow and flourish once again, after being proven into existence by a strange new science. However, with the return of magic, there came a price.

 _“I’m beginning to fear that the world will never need you,”_ Merlin sighed one day, sitting alone in a tower that overlooked what once had been a mighty and familiar kingdom.

 _“It’s a good thing,”_ Arthur supposed. _“If what hell this world has been through already hasn’t dragged me back, then who knows what terrors would.”_

Merlin huffed a humorless laugh. His mental health was deteriorating again and Arthur was struggling to pick him back up as always. _“I just want to go home.”_

 _“You will,”_ Arthur said. _“I promise, I will bring you home.”_ And the once great king wrapped his hot fingers around Merlin’s heart and dug into his brain.

A tear escaped Merlin’s eyes as he closed them in comfort. He let Arthur sooth him and absorbed his presence, eager to be reminded of what life used to be like when he was truly young as he looked, when time went by normally. Instead, now it all seemed to speed by and yet each moment on its own was agonizingly slow.

To his fright, Arthur’s presence began to ebb away and he wondered why his king was leaving him. Arthur would normally share the warmth of his heart until Merlin fell asleep or a new conversation had struck up. But now, he was just fading away. And, after a while, it was gone completely.

 _“Arthur?”_ Merlin questioned, concerned and frightened.

To his horror, he received no response. He searched and undid his mind looking for any sign of the man he shared a soul with, but he could not find a trace of him. Suddenly he became aware that he had stood up and was calling out, frantically shouting Arthur’s name. He started, sat down, and composed himself. Something inside of him stirred and, for a moment, he felt empty, entirely hollowed out.

Then, there was the sound of a crash in the distance and he gazed out the window to see a tall building begin its journey to the ground. One by one building and tower fell, sending dust, smoke, and debris clouding the air and blackening the sky.

Suddenly, Merlin was on his feet again and he began stumbling and tumbling down the stairs and out of the tower, racing past panicking people and criers who had lost hope. He burst out of the building and into the smoke. He coughed and gagged and spit but he didn’t care. He’d died before and he’d do it again. He just needed to run.

All around him were sirens, alarms, screams, yells, cries, crashes, and bangs of all types. His head pounded with the volume of the sounds and his eyes stung as he struggled to see through the smoke. Finally he burst through the thick cover of ash and found the one place mysteriously unaffected by the catastrophe that the rest of the world had fallen victim to; a lake.

Wheezing and coughing and crying, Merlin staggered to the bank, where he dropped to his knees. He fought the inevitable for as long as he could, but he could not help it. He kept his burning, blood shot eyes on the surface of the lake, even as his vision spun and splintered black. Eventually, his limbs gave way and he collapsed into the shallow waters, closing his eyes just as he saw the water ripple.

 

 

And thus, the lady of the lake delivered Arthur unto Merlin. When the boy awoke he was in hysterics. He cried and wept and yelled and sobbed, all while Arthur held him.

“I thought you’d have left me forever. I thought you really weren’t real. You just stopped, Arthur. You just stopped,” he babbled, crying into Arthur’s bare shoulder and holding onto him as if he were afraid he’d be let go.

The first few days Arthur had returned were spent nursing Merlin back to health whilst taking refuge inside the rubble of a broken home. Arthur found some sullen clothes for himself to wear and had found Merlin’s cloak by the lake, where he kept it.

It was like Merlin had gone numb. So much time had passed where he sat, doubting or denying that his king was real. But now he was returned and it seemed so impossibly blissful that he could do nothing but stare. He searched Arthur’s eyes and his face, marveling at how familiar and yet foreign he looked. Whenever the king touched Merlin, the boy was astonished to feel the palpable presence of his lost friend.

Slowly Merlin managed to regain himself and, finally, one day, he greeting a waking Arthur by sitting by him as he slept.

“Merlin?” he questioned as he squinted open one eye.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, not entirely sure why.

“For what?” Arthur asked as he sat up against what was left of the wall in their makeshift home. “You have done nothing wrong, Merlin.”

Merlin opened his mouth to speak but shut it after a moment of internal contemplation. It was strange to Arthur; not being able to read Merlin’s thoughts like he had been for so long. Then, the boy dug through his pockets until he finally withdrew the royal seal of the house of Pendragon. He ogled at it himself for a moment before thrusting it upon Arthur.

“Merlin . . .”

“You’re back!” Merlin said with a smile. “It’s yours now. You’re the king.”

“Merlin, Camelot is gone.”

“No,” Merlin denied, shaking his head and placing the seal into Arthur’s hands himself. “I’m still here. I will bow to you, if no one else will.”

Hesitantly, Arthur clasped his fingers around the seal and held it close. “Thank you, Merlin.”

That marked the start of Merlin’s recovery, in which he and Arthur began trying to find out what had started the strange anomaly. It took well over a year before all things were sorted out and a great battle commenced between the forces. All kings and queens and presidents and ministers had been wiped out, leaving the world in chaos and every country, county, and continent without a leader. Dust and ash clouded the earth as Arthur and Merlin fought side by side to restore peace to the people; wisdom, magic, strategy, and skill working together to unite all lands.

Many people died. Thousands upon thousands of lives were lost. Many of them were good people. Others were sacrifices that had to be made in order to restore peace. The world became small, a fraction of the size it used to be and it was all so confusing with everything covered by a curtain of ash.

And then, suddenly it was all clear. The once and future and the greatest sorcerer to have ever lived stood tall and proud as silhouettes in the smoke, slowly becoming visible, vibrant figures as it all faded away. For the first time in many heartbreaking, painful days, the sun shone down on the earth and the people cheered. Arthur and Merlin had untied the land of Albion as well as the rest of the world, where all now lived in peace with no higher authority. All were equal and worked hard to be just and maintain the tranquility around them.

As the last of the dirt and grime left the air, it became clear to the two of them where they were standing. They turned to see the lake of Avalon in all its glory, water glistening against the grey sky of morning. And they turned again when they remembered the crowd before them, some with cameras and microphones and others with nothing but their awe filled faces.

Arthur stepped forth and spoke determinedly. “I am Arthur Pendragon and I am king of all Albion! However, I will not be with you. You must govern yourselves and help each other to recover and rebuild from this disaster. But I promise that, if ever Albion is threatened again, I will return and Merlin and I will fight until the world’s end to keep the righteous and just people safe.”

The people cheered. All around the world, the people cheered, seeing and hearing his small speech on televisions, phones, radios, and other things. But neither Arthur nor Merlin cared. They desired no credit, only that the good people were safe. So, the king turned back to the lake and to his friend.

Merlin looked sorrowfully back at Arthur, knowing that he would have to return to the other world. He would not keep him there, could not. Avalon was too peaceful and Arthur deserved it too much. However, to his surprise, instead of a goodbye, Arthur closed the distance between them and held out his hand.

“Let’s go home, old friend.”

And Merlin broke out into the widest, most gleefully grin that there ever was, eyes sparking with tears of utter joy. Then, he took Arthur’s hand and they walked towards the lake. As the sun, broke the horizon and the world was blinded by its brilliant light, they vanished.

All was well and Merlin, finally, could rest.

 

**_In Sibbe Gerest_ **


End file.
